Call of the Grave
by Confused Confusion
Summary: DISCONTINUED. Who knew that a fear of heights would mean anything in the zombie apocalypse? "I'll take the hundred in front, and you can have the hundred behind us." After an awkward landing, the survivors find themselves stuck in Newburg.
1. Prologue: Lament for the Falling

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would die more often (every time his character shouts at me, I just feel like setting him ablaze with a Molotov), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the gattling guns in every campaign that are so much fun to mow down zombies with).**

**((O.o))**

**Author's Note: Given FanFiction's two-genre limit, I will be adjusting the story's genres as the chapters progress, depending on which two fit best with the mood of the new chapter. To those who don't care too much about that, this story will revolve around Humor/Adventure/Action/Horror/Drama/Romance/Suspense. A lot, I know, hence the genre-shifting plan.**

**Do note that this story is technically an "OC Story," but I do plan on giving the original survivors a lot of spotlight, so for those of you who dislike OC's in fanfics, please bear with me. With that said, please sit back and enjoy the ride.**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Prologue: Requiem for the Falling

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_And if I die before I wake, pray the lord my soul to take._

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**Inspired Music: "Left 4 Dead (Main Menu Theme)" – Valve Studio Orchestra **

Gunfire ripped through the once silent air, screams and primitive howls responded in resounding echoes. Snarls and screeches reverberated through the thin walls of the farmhouse. A small group of figures clad in camouflage backpedaled up the worn porch and into the house, the last man quickly closing the door. A couple of other soldiers rushed to a nearby sofa, pushing it to the doorway before propping it at an angle. The sound of scraping wood filled the group's ears, causing them to hasten their efforts in barricading the door. Wood splintered as a grey, gangrened arm attempted to worm its way through the new opening in the door. The soldier closest to the door roared as he knocked the limb back through the hole with the butt of his rifle. With a quick motion, he flipped the firearm back around and released a stream of lead into the deranged Infected through the small opening.

"Up the stairs people, this thing won't hold forever!" a tall soldier near the back hollered, seemingly the commanding officer of the group. Having long since dispensed with his helmet, the man's hair was cut close to his head, typical of those in the army. He was unshaven and a long scar trailed up to his left temple from his jaw. A small, unlit cigarette was clenched tightly between his teeth. The others nodded briefly before rushing to the staircase. Two soldiers backpedaled; guns trained on the door as the horde of Infected slowly began to tear through the barricade. Another soldier shined her flashlight down the hall leading past the stairs, searching for any sign of Infected, the soldier to her left doing likewise to the dining room as they passed it.

Making it up to the second floor, the group was caught by surprise when an inhuman scream cut through the air. Not even a moment later, a hooded figure flew in through the window, glass and wooden splinters erupting from the wall. The soldier lingering in the rear was thrown back down the stairwell as the hooded creature collided with his midsection. The pair tumbled down the stairs before the Hunter latched onto his abdomen, tearing _chunks_ of flesh off his body. The remainder of the group began shuffling down the stairs, firearms attempting to get a clear shot at the Infected despite the awkward spacing. There was a _**bang**_ and swarms of Infected poured into the room, the obstacle at the front door having been dealt with.

"Shit, get your asses moving guys, there's nothing more we can do!" the leading officer ordered while grabbing the back of the nearest soldier's collar. He tugged her around the railing toward the bedroom furthest down the hall, a third soldier following close behind as the remaining group was slowly being overwhelmed by the army of the undead. Another scream rose over the screeching of the horde, although this one sounded stationary, unlike the rapidly approaching scream of the Hunter. Before any of them could react, a slimy, pink, boil-covered tendril whipped through the broken window. The appendage wrapped itself around the trailing soldier's midsection, causing the man to glance down at his waist. Time seemed to slow as the soldier lifted his gaze at the two soldiers in from of him, his face contorted in a mix of fear, horror, and reluctance. He shook his head slowly as time sped up, the Smoker's tongue pulling back with a sharp _yank_. The man was snapped off his feet and pulled through the window in an instant.

"Mitchell!" the female soldier shrieked while attempting to fight the other's hold on her.

The leading officer gave a sharp pull on her vest, causing her to stumble in front of him, "Mitch is dead by now, get moving!" He shoved her into the bedroom, following his comrade before slamming the door shut.

"Fuck!" the female soldier yelled while bringing her rifle up, unloading the rest of her magazine into the spine and head of an Infected that stood over a sitting woman and two children. The corpse fell in a heap as the male soldier began piling everything he could find in front of the door. The empty magazine clattered to floor, but was quickly replaced as the female soldier trained the barrel of her rifle on the blocked door as Infected began to claw and ram against it. The male soldier knelt down near the three civilians, pulling out the two-way on his vest.

"This is Captain Lyons from Delta Squad at Daughtery Farm. Point Echo has been lost, I repeat: Point Echo has been lost. We will hold for as long as we can, over and out," Capt. Lyons practically yelled into the feed, his frantic state beginning to overwhelm his military instincts. He threw the two-way onto the floorboards near the trio before looking apologetically at the woman, "Martha…I-I'm so sorry this happened."

Martha, though fearful, managed a shaky smile while hugging her children closer to her, "It's alright Rob, you and the army did all that you could for us survivors, and for that, I'm truly thankful."

The captain offered her a small smile in return before glancing back at the door and his comrade, Sarah, in worry. Rob pulled a pistol from the holster on his belt and offered it to Martha. The aging woman merely shook her head, pushing the gun back toward the officer, "It won't do me any good, son. You take it; it looks like you'll need it."

Rob hesitated a moment before he recoiled his hand, placing the firearm back in its proper place. Making sure his magazine was full, the captain took his place beside Sarah, joining her in the bloodbath that was about to occur. Martha pulled out a small bag from her pocket while motioning her children into their sleeping bags. The kids accepted the set of earplugs their mother handed them. Once the plugs were inserted, the brother and sister snuggled up close to Martha, looks of fear still donning their faces. The woman, in turn, smiled kindly at them while stroking their hair. Martha removed a plug from each ear and whisper to the both of them, "When I put them back in your ears, I want you to cover your ears with your hands and close your eyes tightly, and don't open them until I say so, okay?" The children nodded and did as they were told.

As Martha sat there, attempting to comfort her son and daughter, she began to hum a song that had always seemed to help her kids in falling asleep. She closed her eyes and hummed louder, pivoting so that all three of them were facing away from the splintering door. Rob and Sarah dropped their guards momentarily as the soft tune reached their ears, both taking a small comfort in it. The action proved to be a mistake as a Smoker's tongue pierced through a small tear in the door, snaking around Sarah's throat before yanking her to the flailing arms of the Infected. Rob raised his rifle to eye-level as hungry nails, claws, and teeth began to tear into his companion's flesh. He pulled the trigger, refusing to ease up until an audible_ clicking_ emitted from the chamber.

Martha continued to hum to her children as the captain threw his firearm to the ground, ripping his pistol from its holster and shot at anything and everything that moved. The bed and dresser used in the barricade toppled over as the Hunter slammed into it, temporarily removing the blockade. Rob snarled and threw himself forward at the bed, shoving it against the ruined door and providing limited access to the undead. He continued to empty his clip into the horde, desperately wishing that he wouldn't have to die as the melody became louder and louder. Unbeknownst to any of them, the captain's two-way remained on, broadcasting through the emergency line.

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A squad of policemen stopped their shooting momentarily and glanced into their various cars, which were lined up to form a barrier on the cramped city street in Fairfield. A gentle humming resounded from their radios, bringing forth stillness in the air. A river of corpses, those of the Infected and those of unchanged humans, lay before them with more ghouls sprinting toward them on the horizon. The sheriff glanced at their ammo reserves and sighed, there was no chance in hell they were going to hold out against another wave. He pumped his shotgun and closed his eyes, basking in the melody of the humming.

In the metropolis of Newburg, military personnel were busy evacuating as many civilians as they could via airplane at the Metro International Airport. The tension in the terminals was unbearable as every person was screened for signs of infection. Those who were unlucky enough to test positive were dragged off to a restricted "quarantined" section of the airport. Occasional fights and riots would break out in the lines, normally started by people who had the infection, but still refused to acknowledge it, saying that they were "perfectly fine" and "didn't feel sick." The Emergency Broadcast line, which had been looping for hours over the intercom, was suddenly replaced by a soft tune being hummed. Whatever fights that were taking place slowly ceased as everyone strained their ears to hear the mysterious melody that was slowly beginning to fade in and out between static.

National Guardsmen finished forming another row of sandbags around the main doors of Riverside First Church. The building was transformed into a communications point and military outpost due to it being the highest point in the small town. Troops had already stockpiled supplies and weapons into the church itself, even going as far as erecting a small, red beacon light for any passing evacuation helicopters. The pastor of the church had a small group of his congregation, those who had managed to make it, off to the side, leading them in prayer. The soldiers stopped what they were doing when a musical humming floating through the air from their broadcast radio. Even the small group of churchgoers ceased their praying to listen to the faint tune. As the batteries of Rob's two-way began to die, the country listened to the remains of the saddening song as it faded. Just before the connection was cut, the sounds of Infected screams and hissing could be heard in the background, drawing closer to the humming mother and her children…

_**...The End…Has Begun…**_

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Next Chapter: Fritos at Gunpoint

**Where the hero of our story hates cheap hospital glass and Francis is willing to kill for some chips. **

**AN: Whew, took me a while to grasp and visualize the prologue since I wanted it a certain way. For those who have yet to figure it out, the tune that Martha was humming is 'Left 4 Dead' of the game's original soundtrack; it's the music that plays at the main menu. Ever since I heard the entire song (especially the end with the radio crackling), I wandered if there was any back story to the song itself or not. Although Martha, Rob and the others are NOT my OCs…well, they are, just not the ones this story will revolve around, I felt like I had to throw something like this in there, just to help set the mood and provide a hypothetical situation of pre-No Mercy. So yeah, I'm going to shut up now, please review! Hell, I'll even embrace your flames with s'mores and hotdogs!**


	2. Fritos at Gunpoint

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would die more often (every time his character shouts at me, I just feel like setting him ablaze with a Molotov), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the gattling guns in every campaign that are so much fun to mow down zombies with).**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 1: Fritos at Gunpoint

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_I feel my world shake…like an earthquake…_

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**Inspired Music: "This is War" – 30 Seconds to Mars**

_"Guys?" a small blonde-haired girl, no more than the age of eight, called out as she walked down a rugged trail in the middle of the woods, her aquamarine eyes darting around in fright. The sun was beginning to set and cast ominous shadows across the trees. The girl peered around in anxiety as her eyes played tricks on her with the shadows. A twig snapped somewhere to her left and she screamed in response, taking off in the opposite direction and sprinted off the trail completely. Refusing to look back, the girl continued running with everything she had, fear gripping her heart too tightly to allow her to stop. Trees and foliage whizzed by in blurs of greens and browns, and low-hanging tree limbs bit into her flesh as she ran by, causing numerous scratches to dot her arms and face. Reaching the top of a steep incline, the girl's foot caught on a gnarled root sticking out of the soil. Letting out a sharp scream, she tumbled down the other side into a thorny bush._

_Groaning in pain, the girl managed to haul herself out of the bush, tears already springing to life in her eyes. She glanced down at her clothes, oh man; her mom was going to kill her. Her shirt was covered in leaves and dirt, with various small rips where the branches had gotten the better of the cotton material. Her pants weren't fairing any better. Long mud streaks ran down her shins, with a large tear at her right knee where she had scraped herself from the fall. She sniffled in an attempt to stifle the tears while lifting herself into a standing position. As her injured knee tried to straighten, it suddenly gave out with a shock of pain. The girl fell back to the dirt, landing harshly on the injured knee. She let out a pained cry as the tears once more threatened to spill. Raising her hands up, she wiped the tears away and glanced around at her surroundings. Aquamarine eyes widened as fear once again squeezed at her heart when she realized that she nowhere near the trail, and that she had no idea where she was. The tears were successful this time, streaming down her cheeks as she sobbed at her hopeless situation._

_"Alex?" _

_Alex stifled her cries, sniffling quietly instead as she heard her name being called in the distance._

_"Alex? Where are you?"_

_She was sure of it this time, someone was calling her name. Was it the guys? Ignoring the question, she shouted in return, "Hello?"_

_"I heard it come from over there, come on!"_

_A loud rustling ensued, gradually coming closer and closer to her location, until finally, two boys around her age came bursting through the bushes on her right. Alex yelped in surprise as they stopped in front of her, hands on their knees while trying to regain their breath. One had shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes while the other, slightly taller, boy had neatly combed auburn hair and jade-colored eyes. The two immediately ceased when they caught sight of her, "Alex!"_

_A grin spread across Alex's face at the sight of the boys, and in her rush of joy, absentmindedly leapt to her feet while momentarily forgetting her injured knee. The moment her weight shifted onto the injury, a flash of pain rushed through her, causing her to cry out and stumble forward. Alex pitched forward, and winced as the ground came rushing closer. _

_The pain of impact never came. _

_Cracking an eye open, she found herself hovering over the ground, two pairs of hands gripped firmly on each of her arms. The boys hoisted Alex into a semi-standing position while allowing her to lean on both of them. With a sigh of relief she turned to both boys, "Thanks Mike, thanks Todd."_

_Mike grinned, his blue eyes dancing as he scratched the back of his head with his free hand, "No problem."_

_Todd looked down at her in worry, "You okay?"_

_Alex smiled sheepishly, "I kind of fell and hurt my knee, so now it doesn't like walking."_

_Todd rolled his green eyes before releasing Alex's arm and kneeled in front of her. Alex just stared uncertainly at his back while blinking in confusion. He craned his head around, "Well, what are you waiting for? Hop on."_

_Alex nodded and clambered onto the older boy's back. Once he felt she was secure, Todd stood and turned to Mike, "Alright compass-boy, lead the way." The younger boy gave a cheesy salute before trudging ahead through the foliage, Todd following close behind while carrying Alex piggyback style._

_Alex buried her face into Todd's shoulder, "Thanks for coming back for me, guys."_

_"Anytime," Todd said softly, a smile grazing his face. Mike tilted his head toward the pair and grinned at Alex._

_"We'll always protect you."_

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Michael rolled his eyes as his two coworkers went at it…**again**. He sighed and removed his work hat, running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair as his ice-blue eyes narrowed in irritation. Noah, a large man of Hispanic descent, stood across the room, poking fun at a **much** shorter girl by the name of Lori. Setting the cap back on his head, Michael picked up a coffee mug and placed it on the shelf while eyeing the pair as they exchanged insults.

"Shut up, Noah! I swear to God, I **will** kick your ass!" Lori half-shouted while threateningly raising a metal ladle.

Noah merely smirked in response, "Too bad you can't reach my ass all the way down there."

The girl growled something in response before lunging at the larger man in a primal fury. Noah casually lifted his hand as Lori's face ran into it, effectively…and comically, holding her at bay while still remaining out of the ladle's reach. Michael sighed and took a step toward the bickering pair, preparing to stop them, when a bell chimed from the cafeteria. The two immediately stopped, but Noah's smug smirk still remained on his face. Lori's eyes narrowed dangerously, "This isn't over, fatty."

With a huff, Lori spun on her heel and went to go attend to her customer, but not before Noah got one last shot in. As she reached the doorway that connected the adjacent rooms, Noah began humming a circus tune just loud enough for the girl to hear.

Lori paused momentarily, but only to throw the ladle over her shoulder. Had Noah not been covering his face in an attempt to hide his laughter, he would have been able to dodge the metal utensil that slammed into his head. The ladle clattered to the floor as Noah gripped his head in pain. Muttering a jumble of profanities, the man bent down and picked up the object that now represented the bane of his existence.

Michael passed by his coworker and dropped a large kitchen knife into its slot on the rack. He glanced at Noah, who was still holding, and glaring, at the ladle, "You know you're washing that, right?" The larger man's attention snapped to Michael, who stood staring at him. With a defeated sigh, Noah nodded his and trudged over to the dish machine.

The icy-eyed youth rolled his eyes, dreading the fact that the two of them would resume their fight within the next five minutes. Michael had scored a part-time as a dishwasher at Mercy Hospital, no the best job in the world, but it had its perks. It had a laidback atmosphere, lenient rules on tardiness, decent pay, and for some reason, a 401k plan. Again, he wasn't complaining, although working with Noah and Lori could be both irritating and sometimes hazardous if you stepped in between them at the wrong time. Picking up a bag of sliced bread, Michael carried it out to the cafeteria where he switched it out with an empty bag on the buffet line. He glanced at the television set attached to the wall, which was currently viewing the local news channel. The newscaster was going on about the developing story involving the latest outbreaks of the infection, dubbed "Dusk," within Fairfield, as well as the numerous quarantine zones that were sprouting up because of it. Michael noted with a grim smirk that several employees and guests were wearing simple medical masks to cover their noses and mouths.

Turning his attention back to the monitor, Michael let out a small impressed whistle. The screen had shifted to a virtual layout of the city, showing the areas of confirmed outbreaks as well as the quarantine zones and National Guard outposts. The outbreak zones had totaled to nearly 50% of the city, but the military had still not called for an evacuation. Or rather, it was too late to call for one. The Dusk Virus was all over the country and beginning to take hold worldwide. Fairfield was a rather large city, and potentially having half its population infected posed too much risk of a further spreading of the disease. Instead, they merely heavily guarded the only entrances/exits of the city and patrolled the streets with a strict curfew.

Michael felt a chill run up his spine as he spotted an outbreak and quarantine zone only a few blocks from the hospital. Although the government hadn't disclosed much, he had seen some images and video footage of the infected on the media. They were…primal, to say the least. The victims of the virus seemed to lose all presence of mind and self, reverting to some form of beast that only lived on the most basic of instinct. When left alone, they would just shamble about aimlessly or lie on the ground. They seemed harmless until startled, which thanks to studies was caused by sudden movements, sounds, and lights, and then their docile nature would shift dramatically into that of a ferocious creature that stopped at nothing to destroy that which caused the disturbance. The boy turned his attention away from the TV and resumed his work, lest his boss come out of her office to yell at him for being lazy.

The evening shift went by slowly and uneventfully, Noah and Lori argued every five minutes, as usual, his boss got on his case about something he didn't even do, and a random dish was broken in the back. As seven o'clock rolled by, Michael inwardly thanked God as he dispensed with his apron and unbuttoned his work shirt, revealing a simple black T-shirt underneath. As he clocked out, Michael passed by his boss, Colleen's, office and heard a sickeningly sweet "Have a good evening!" The boy just lazily waved his hand and grumbled out something in response as he continued walking. It's not that he hated the woman…well, he did. He didn't hate her as a person; he just hated her as a boss.

Shuffling to the men's locker room, he pulled his backpack from his locker, not even bothering to change into his street clothes. Michael slung the bag over his shoulder and left the skyscraper through the service entrance, trudging up the steep ramp. About halfway up the incline, the icy-eyed youth noticed someone standing in the middle of the road. Quirking an eyebrow, Michael slowed his ascent, but as he did, his shoes slid against some loose bits of cement, the action causing a scraping sound to echo through the empty block. The person in the road whirled around to face Michael, taking a crouching stance. The youth in turn took a step back, not really liking the turn of events that were taking place. The figure in the road was some distance away, but Michael could make out tattered, stained clothes and felt his stomach drop.

"You've got to be shitting me…" Michael muttered as the figure let a primal howl erupt from its throat before charging forward.

Michael took another step back and noticed several more figures moving rapidly from the parking lot across the street.

"Oh, you have got to be shitting me!" Michael shouted before taking off back down the ramp, the horde of Infected in hot pursuit.

The automatic door slid open as Michael approached, the boy running as fast as he could. After crossing the threshold into the hospital, he immediately flipped the toggle for the door to 'Manual' mode. Gripping the door tightly, Michael slid the door shut and locked the latch in place as the horde barreled down the ramp. Resuming his sprint, Michael raced down the hall at full speed. A loud _crack_ and several _crunching_ sounds emitted from behind him. Skidding to a stop at the T-shaped intersection of the hallway, Michael turned and found the glass of the automatic door cracked and fractured in several places and the Infected pounded against it.

"Cheap hospital and their cheap glass," Michael muttered in a mixture of annoyance and astonishment.

The glass finally gave way in the form of a small space near the bottom railing. A small female Infected crawled through the space, seemingly oblivious as the shattered border of the opening cut into her flesh. She stood and began charging at Michael as the other Infected continued to slam into the weakening glass. Michael, seeing the rapidly closing Infected, took off down the hall on his left, toward the kitchen's storeroom. Reaching the large wooden door, he slammed his fingers into the keypad, attempting to enter the correct combination to disable the lock. A red light flashed on the pad and Michael inwardly cursed as he tried again. The Infected zipped past the intersection, knocking into the wall before rebounding off the tiled surface toward its target. Michael cursed loudly as the red light flashed again. Punching in the combination again, the pad gave off a green light a _click_ was heard from within the handle. Shoving open the door, Michael stumbled into the storeroom as the door slowly began to close behind him. The Infected screamed as it approached; its primitive urge to kill pushing it to move faster.

With a roar, Michael threw himself at the slowly closing door, forcing it shut. The Infected outside pounded on the door in fury, its screeches piercing through the reinforced wood. Michael flinched at the sound and backed up slowly, staring warily at the only thing separating him from death. The banging in the hall continued, but fortunately, the door remained firm. The youth continued to backpedal, eyes not leaving the large door as he rounded a corner. The growls and snarls slowed and soon died away with the scratching sounds, the enraged Infected reverting to a docile state as it leaned against the door. Michael quietly let out a shaky breath and turned his attention to the storeroom that he had locked himself in.

He shrugged as he gazed around; the room was built partially underground, so the only windows in the room were small and high up, and also currently blocked by thick blinds. Good, if any more of those _things_ were out there, they wouldn't be able to see him. The door was reinforced by a metal panel, and had a built-in locking mechanism in the handle. Aside from the structure, the room was lined with food: chips, cookies, bagged bread, canned foods, ingredients, utensils, etc. If anyone in the building were to hold out anywhere, this would be the place. Michael felt his stomach growl quietly from lack of food. Damn it, he should've eaten during his break. Grabbing a bag of chips, he made his way to the back of the storeroom. As quietly as he could, Michael opened the bag and did the only thing he could do, he waited.

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He wasn't sure how long it had been. Hours? Days? A week? He had lost count and frankly, he wasn't about to risk his life going outside and finding out. Michael sighed and inspected the box-cutting knife in his hand. Unfortunately, it was the best weapon of defense he could find the room littered with food items. It wasn't much, but damn it, it was sharp as hell. He sat and wondered what happened to his coworkers as well as the other occupants of the hospital. Did they get any kind of warning? Did any of them make it out? What was up with that supposed quarantine? It was probably just a sign that said 'Do Not Cross' or something stupid like that.

Michael was pulled from his thoughts as the sound of muffled voices echoed into the room. Silently, he hoisted himself up and worked the sleep from his legs as the voices came closer to the storeroom. Positioning himself behind a tightly packed shelf, Michael waited, straining his ears while readying his knife. He had seen enough movies to know that during a situation such as this, there are always looters and maniacs out for blood, blinded by the anarchy of it all. The voices grew louder and Michael could finally distinguish the words being spoken.

"It's gotta be here somewhere," a gruff voice called from somewhere in the hallway outside.

"Francis, we don't have time for this!" a female voice hissed.

"What? I've been in enough hospitals to know that they all have storerooms with food in 'em. Besides, we need to restock on supplies, right?" the one known as Francis responded, as if his logic was foolproof.

"We're in the hospital…and the evacuation is on the roof of said hospital, I really don't think we need supplies," another male voice tried to reason, this one sounding slightly younger than Francis.

"Louis, shut up and trust me on this. Would you rather have food and not need it, or need it, and not have it?" Francis retorted in a half-snarl. Louis was silent as he apparently thought about Francis' words.

"All of you shut it and hurry up. I'd rather be evacuated without food than be stranded here just because we made a detour for some snacks," a new male voice barked, this one sounding clearly older than Francis or Louis.

"Come on, Bill. Can I at least get a bag of Fritos? I've been craving those for days," Francis asked, although it sounded as if he'd go searching for the chips whether or not Bill said yes.

"Fritos actually don't sound too bad right now," the female commented quietly.

"Ya see? Even Zoey's craving some chips right now!" Francis laughed, his heavy boots turning and coming down the hall toward the storeroom door.

"Fine, but just get your damn chips and let's get out of here," Bill muttered in return, giving into Francis' demands.

A pair of footsteps closed in on the door, meaning that the other two remained in the hall, most likely on the lookout for any Infected. Michael readied himself when he heard the door's handle jiggle on the outside. There was cursing on the other side of the door before a wave of silence passed over the area. Michael poked his head from behind the shelf, wondering if perhaps the group had left. Something large and heavy rammed into the door, causing the door the crack and groan in protest. Michael flinched and stepped back behind the shelf in a brief rush of panic. He peeked between a gap in the shelves just as the heavy object was hurled into the door again, effectively removing it from the hinges. The thick wooden door fell with a _thud_ as a large man emerged from the hall, a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He looked and dressed like a biker: shaved head, goatee, a black leather vest fitting over a dirty white singlet, a simple pair of jeans, biker gloves, and tattoos running up and down both arms. He was tall, probably taller than Michael himself, and looked like if Mike actually punched him, he'd only succeed in breaking his hand.

The girl, Zoey, stood slightly behind him, shooting a withering glare at the back of his head for the ruckus he had caused, a hunting rifle gripped tightly in her hands. She looked about Michael's age, wearing a pink jacket with a white shirt underneath. A pair of tight blue jeans clung to her legs and was topped off by a pair of Converse. Her long brown hair was tied back in a simple ponytail and her blue eyes held a mixture of annoyance and fear in them.

The biker, who Michael could only assume was Francis, ignored Zoey's heated glare and marched forward, scanning the chip-packed shelf in front of him. Spotting his target, the large man pulled a snack-sized bag of Fritos from its box. Zoey had hung back by the doorway, waiting impatiently for Francis to be done, but not really paying any attention to him. Michael took his chance and darted forward from behind the shelf. Francis caught the sharp movement in the corner of this eye and dropped his shotgun forward, firing a shell out of instinct. The radius of the blast missed Michael by at least two inches as he continued his sprint. Francis inwardly cursed and pumped the shotgun in preparation for a second shot. Michael swung his left arm around the firearm, clenching his arm muscles tightly and effectively stopping the pump mechanism in mid-motion. His right hand shot forward, pressing the blade against Francis' throat. The biker froze, his eyes locking with Michael's ice-blue ones. The two stared each other down, glaring furiously at one another, daring the other to make a move.

"Move and you die," Michael hissed threateningly, pressed the blade further into Francis' neck.

The biker didn't even flinch, "I could say the same thing for you."

The sound of a gun cocking brought Michael's eyes to his left, where the barrel of Zoey's hunting rifle was pressed against his temple. The rifle's owner narrowed her eyes dangerously at Michael, as if daring him to kill Francis.

"You know, you're supposed to use the scope on those things," Michael offered.

"I really don't think I'll need to use it this time," Zoey snorted in response, nudging Michael's head with the barrel for emphasis. Michael just smirked dangerously in response.

"Yo, excuse me," Francis coughed, pulling the two from their verbal confrontation.

Michael's attention was once again pulled to Francis, "What?"

"All I wanted was some damn Fritos."

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Next Chapter: Shortcut!

**Boomers just can't seem to comprehend the aspect of doorway-dimensions, and the survivors learn to NEVER turn on the lights of pitch black rooms.**

**A/N: Wow, sorry about the delay on this. I got sidetracked by some things and almost pulled the story because of it. As I was going to delete the story from the site, one of my friends sent me the trailer for 'Zombieland,' which made me instantly decide against the deletion. If you haven't seen the trailer yet, go to YouTube (I do not own YouTube.) and look it up. It's like a mix between L4D and 'Shaun of the Dead.' Anywho, I'll to make the next update much more frequent, so please please please please review!**


	3. Shortcut!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would die more often (every time his character shouts at me, I just feel like setting him ablaze with a Molotov), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the gattling guns in every campaign that are so much fun to mow down zombies with).**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 2: Shortcut!

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_I'm taking the high road, going above you…_

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**Inspired Music: "Black Betty" – Ram Jam**

Michael blinked at Francis, who was still clutching the bag of Fritos tightly in his hand. Even Zoey had lowered her hunting rifle slightly, staring at her companion for his ridiculous statement despite the dire situation. Francis glanced back and forth at Zoey and Michael, who were staring at him as if he had just grown a second head.

"What? I want Fritos," the biker attempted while pulled the bag closer to his self as the two continued to stare at him.

A cough from the doorway caused the three to turn, facing Louis and Bill who were aiming their weapons at Michael. Sensing that his plan had backfired, and that the four didn't really seem like any kind of crazed lunatics, Michael pulled the knife from Francis' throat.

"Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot," Michael commented while taking a step back, simultaneously releasing his hold on the shotgun.

Francis snorted and shouldered his firearm, "No kidding."

As the biker ripped open the bag of chips, Louis relaxed his grip on his Uzi, although Bill seemed a little more guarded. Even Zoey had lowered her rifle, but Bill remained unconvinced, and kept his automatic shotgun trained on the newcomer. The five stood in an awkward silence for a minute, Michael occasionally glancing every now and then at Bill.

Scratching the back of his head, Michael pointed at Bill, "Is there any way you could get him to stop aiming at me?"

Louis turned to the veteran, "Yo Bill, relax man."

"Relax? If you didn't notice, this punk just had a knife to Francis's throat," Bill scoffed in return, not lowering the firearm.

"Wouldn't be the first time!" Francis chirped while opening a second bag of Fritos.

"Bill, he was just being cautious, right?" Zoey attempted to defend Michael while turning to him.

The youth nodded, "Hey, any guy who's willing to break down a reinforced door for a bag of chips is a little iffy to me. I figured you guys were looters or something."

The senior snorted, "As if there's any looters left in the city."

"What do you mean?" Michael questioned while leaning back into the shelf.

Bill stared at the young man in astonishment, "Son, how long have you been locked up in here?"

Michael shrugged in response, "Not sure, I just booked it in here when some of those _things_ started chasing me as I was leaving work."

The veteran pinched the bridge of his nose, unable to respond, so Zoey did it for him, "The Dusk Virus spread across the entire city, there's hardly anyone left. Hell, the five of us and that helicopter pilot could be the only ones running around the city not infected."

"Helicopter pilot?"

Louis nodded, "We were further downtown when a helicopter flew by; it was looping a message about an evacuation on the hospital's rooftop."

"Huh…so you guys are here to evacuate?" Michael asked, trying to get the story straight.

The four nodded, and it was Louis who said it, "Come with us!"

"Hold up," Bill snapped before Michael could respond. "We don't even know if he's immune."

"Come on, Bill, if he hasn't turned by now, he has to be immune, right?" Zoey tried, but was silenced by the older man's glare.

"Yeah, but he's been locked in here with absolutely **no** contact with anyone else for at **least** a couple of days."

Michael raised his hand, "Excuse me." All eyes turned to him, "I did sort of work here…where there were patients infected with the virus, and I was around them."

"See?" Zoey spoke, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Bill rolled his eyes, knowing that the girl only wanted the punk to tag along with them so she had someone her age to talk to.

Francis suddenly squashed his third, half-empty bag of chips, the tip of his barrel shoved into Michael's face.

"Francis! What the hell are you doing?" Zoey practically yelled, shocked by her companion's actions. The biker ignored her, staring into Michael's ice-blue eyes as the youth flickered the knife in his hand around, prepared to thrown it at the drop of a hat. The two stared at each other, glares intensifying as Michael refused to back down to Francis' imposing size…and the small fact that he had a gun in his face.

The biker unexpectedly cracked a grin and lowered the shotgun, "Heh, kid's got spunk…as well as my vote."

"What? So we're voting now?" Bill muttered, to which Francis only nodded, a defiant smirk on his face.

"Alright, who's in for the new guy tagging along?" Zoey asked while raising her hand. Francis' hand shot up, a fresh bag of Fritos in his hand, while Bill didn't budge.

The veteran cast a sideways glance at Louis, who slowly raised his hand in the air, "What? Come on, an extra set of hands couldn't hurt our chances. Plus, if he works here, he knows the layout of the place."

"Fine," Bill grumbled reluctantly. "However, if you start behaving like an Infected, or start to change into one, I **will** blow your head off, clear?"

"Crystal?" Michael said weakly, caught off guard by the group's odd behavior.

"Good." Bill pulled a pistol and its holster from his belt, tossing it to the newcomer, "A gun's a lot better of a weapon than that little box-cutter."

"Noted," Michael grinned in return while picking up his discarded bag.

"Oh!" Zoey shouted, causing everyone to glance at her. "We haven't introduced ourselves!"

"Right…" Michael said slowly while hooking the gun holster to his belt.

"I'm Zoey," she said while outstretching her hand, which Michael took in a gentle handshake.

"Francis," the biker said gruffly while inhaling the last of the bag's contents.

"Hello, my name's Louis," the tie-wearing man greeted while shaking hands with Michael.

"The old dick is Bill," Francis muttered, pointing a thumb over at the green-clad senior.

Ignoring the glare Bill was shooting Francis, Michael scratched the back of his head, "I'm Michael, and I hope I don't die."

"Don't we all," Bill murmured. "Alright people, let's move it, we've got a long walk ahead of us."

Michael quirked an eyebrow, "How so?

"An ambulance crashed through the hallway further down, and the damn thing's blocking the way to the main elevator," the senior answered gruffly while stepping out into the hall.

The youth poked his head out into the hall, his eyes widening upon seeing that there, in fact, was an actual ambulance sitting in the hallway. The white vehicle's lights were still on, basking the area in flashes of blue and red. The ambulance had come in perpendicular to the hall, effectively blocking the group's original route. Bricks and plaster littered the floor, along with a few lifeless bodies and a pool of blood. Michael inwardly grimaced at the sight, taking note to look away from the vehicle before he became sick.

"So which way do we plan on heading then?" Michael asked quietly, as if anything above a whisper would bring an endless wave of zombies raining down upon them.

"We'll have to backtrack outside the hospital and circle around to the Emergency Entrance," Bill answered in turn, not even looking over his shoulder.

Michael nodded, even though the veteran couldn't see it, until a light went off in his head, "Wait!"

The group halted and gazed back at their newest member, who was rifling through his bag. A smirk spread across Michael's face when his hand grasped the object he was searching for. Michael lifted the object for all to see: a white card with his picture and a barcode on it.

Louis recognized it instantly, "Is that…?"

Michael grinned back, "Yep, it's an ID tag that all employees are required to wear while at work. These things can get you into restricted areas, depending on how significant your role in the hospital is."

Bill scratched his beard, "That could speed things up, but how much access could a kid have in this place?"

The youth ignored the old man's comment, "I'm apart of the kitchen staff, so we deliver stuff to practically every department in this place."

"Kid's only been in the group for ten seconds and he's already earning his keep," Francis chuckled from the rear.

Michael shrugged, "There's an elevator in the ICU that can take us up to the floors being remodeled, which is literally right underneath the rooftop."

"Let's go then, where's the ICU?" Zoey asked while pulling out two pistols from their holsters at her sides.

"Fourth floor, but if we cut through the kitchen, there's a shortcut we can take using a few ID doors that will take us straight to the ER. If I remember correctly, in there's a staircase that leads pretty much to the ICU department."

Bill eyed Michael warily, "You sure this 'shortcut' of yours will work?"

"So long as the way isn't blocked by anything, yes."

The elder paused a moment, "Alright folks, change of plans; we'll take the kid's shortcut, lead the way."

Michael nodded and started for the kitchen, the other four following close behind. When they made it, the scene caused them to hesitate. Only a few lights remained on, the others having either been destroyed or ripped from the ceiling, and even those were either dim or flickering. A large steel refrigerator was tipped over…and heavily dented to the point where it looked like a crushed pop can. Several counters lay broken and bent in half, the large rack of knives had fallen to the floor, spilling its contents all over the tiled surface. Some of the blades were lying in a pool of blood behind a support pillar, where a lifeless, dark-skinned arm was sticking out.

"Noah…" Michael muttered while approaching the corpse of his former coworker.

As he rounded the pillar to get a better look, he immediately turned away while visibly grimacing. The counter by the pillar had collapsed, falling on Noah's leg and mostly likely crushing it. That in and of itself didn't bother Michael, it was the corpse's abdomen that disgusted him. Noah's entire left side, as well as portions of his arm, seemed as if the flesh and organs had melted away, leaving the remainder of his insides for full display. A strange green substance lined the grievous wound; more of the material lay on the floor around the counter's legs in small craters.

"What the hell?" Francis muttered while stepping up behind Michael. "Bill, come check this out." The veteran crept over, taking in the sight through narrowed eyes.

"You seen anything like this before?" the biker muttered, kneeling down to inspect the strange wound.

"Doesn't look like Boomer bile, this stuff almost…glows," Bill grumbled.

"Boomer?" Michael questioned, tearing his attention away from corpse.

"Eh, they're like fat zombie water balloons. Bloated Infected that are filled with zombie-attracting goop; they burp, they waddle, they puke, and they go _boom_ when you shoot 'em," Francis explained while standing, readying his shotgun while glancing around the kitchen.

"I have no idea what this stuff is and I'd rather not stick around to find out where it came from," Bill spoke while moving toward Louis and Zoey, who had returned from scoping out the cafeteria for signs of Infected.

"Nothing in the cafeteria, looks like part of the hospital managed to evacuate before shit hit the fan," Louis informed when Bill glanced expectedly at him.

A figure suddenly darted out from behind a nearby oven, charging Bill, whose back was to it, with a screech. Bill spun around, but he was too late as the short Infected sped past his shotgun's range. Michael twisted around, aiming his pistol and firing a few shots into the zombie as it passed. The body tilted from the force of the blows, falling to the floor and sliding a foot across the tiled surface, dead. Bill and the others stared at Michael in surprise.

"What? I've played some paintball in my lifetime," Michael defended while walking over to the corpse, rolling it over with his foot. "And there's Lori…"

"You seem to be taking their deaths well," Zoey commented sarcastically.

The youth shrugged, "To be honest, these two annoyed the crap out of me on a daily basis."

Louis was about to comment, but a _blurp_ sound echoed throughout the kitchen area, forcing everyone but Michael on their guard.

"What?" the icy-eyed youth quizzed, confused by their sudden change in behavior.

"That would be the calling card of the Boomer," Zoey groaned, obviously not wanting to deal with one.

"It must have been drawn by the gunshots," Bill guessed while gazing around the kitchen.

"Yeah, but where is it?" Louis pressed, gripping his Uzi tighter.

"Over there," Francis answered quietly, pointing the barrel of his shotgun toward a small office cubicle near the back.

"No way…" Michael whispered, disbelief crossing his features. "Francis, you said these Boomer-things were fat, right?"

The biker nodded before creeping forward, the others following suit.

"Yeah, it's definitely in there," Francis whispered while crouching.

"So what's the plan?" Zoey asked softly.

"I got this," Michael spoke while stepping forward. "Hey Colleen! Get your fat ass out here!"

The survivors felt their jaws drop, Louis being the first to recover, "What the hell is he doing?"

"Dunno," Francis grumbled as a large figure stepped into view.

As Michael stared at the bloated, groaning, zombified version of his boss, a grin slowly spread across his face. The Boomer let out a _blurp_ as it spotted the group of survivors, its pale eyes narrowing into slits. The zombie waddled forward in an attempt to reach the group, but was stopped when it reached the doorway as its abdomen wedged itself tightly between the two vertical beams of wood. Everyone stepped back, being careful **not** to get in range of the Boomer's vomit. The Boomer shuffled as fast as it could, but only succeeded in making itself look comical as the doorframe refused to give.

"Oh, fantastic," Michael said slowly, the grin still donning his face, and raised his pistol. He fired a few rounds into the bulging stomach of the zombie, the impacts causing it to explode in a shower of blood, puss, and guts.

Bill growled and stepped forward, turning the boy around to face him, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Michael shrugged, "She was a bitch and now she's a bitch-zombie, and last time I checked, letting the zombies eat us was a bad thing, right?"

Bill glared at the youth before releasing him, "That may be, but from now on just act as a guide. We'll fill you in on the shit you should and **shouldn't** shoot at the next safe house."

Michael was about to ask what the hell a 'safe house' was, but after catching the glare from Bill, he just nodded and led the group to the exit. Reaching the door, the youth nudged it open quietly, peeking into the dim hallway. Looking around, he counted at least twelve Infected shuffling around. Thanking God that they hadn't seen him, Michael leaned back into the kitchen, quietly indicating that there were zombies just on the other side of the door.

Bill nodded before glancing at Francis, who, in turn, just rolled his eyes before slinking over to the door as Zoey and Louis shifted out of the way. The biker held up a gloved hand over his shoulder, three fingers lifted. Silently, Francis began counting down, lowering a finger as he did so. When he reached zero, the large man kicked open the door, a blast ringing out from the barrel of his shotgun. The other survivors followed quickly, forming a tight nit semi-circle in the hall, more gunfire resulting.

One Infected slipped through Francis' blasts, running along the wall in a crouched fashion. Michael aimed and put four bullets in its leg, practically blowing the limb off. The zombie stumbled forward and fell, where it lay deathly still. Thinking that it was dead, the youth turned his attention to one of the few remaining Infected left. A loud snarl brought his attention right back to the fallen Infected. Pale eyes glared up at him as the mangled body began crawling forward. Michael froze momentarily, but that was all the time the Infected needed as its hand shot out. Dirt and blood-caked nails tore through the material of his pant leg as the gangrened had gripped his calf muscle. The nails eventually drew blood, the new pain bringing Michael back to reality. Aiming his pistol at the Infected's head, Michael was about to pull the trigger when a _bang_ sounded from his left. The zombie's head and collar bone splattered against the wall and floor in a shower of gore. The body fell once more, never to rise.

Michael turned to see the smoking barrel of Francis' shotgun, the biker smirking triumphantly. As the others reloaded their weapons, the youth pried the hand from his leg. Removing his ID card from the pocket on his over-shirt, Michael made his way over to a door with a scanner above the handle.

Michael turned to the others, "Ready?"

Upon received a series of nods, the youth placed the card over the sensor, the device emitting a green light. The door gave a soft _click_, and Michael twisted the now unlocked doorknob, entering the large, dark room. The door closed behind them, cutting off the only light leading into the room, encompassing their vision in darkness. Four beams of light instantaneous appeared, illuminating the room in a dim light. Michael used the lighting to find the switch for the flashlight on his pistol, still not having grown accustomed to the firearm yet. The light came on with a _click_, enhancing the youth's vision somewhat.

"Where are we?" Louis questioned, unable to tell due to the limited light.

"The library, if I remember right," Michael answered while shuffling along the wall toward the exit door.

"Hey guys, I think I found the light switch!" Francis called from further down the room. The biker flicked the toggle, light instantly bursting into the room.

The survivors hissed in pain, slamming their eyes shut as dark blotches spread across their sight. As their vision adjusted, and the dull thumping from their brains subsided, a series of hisses and snarls filled their ears. Cracking open their eyes, the group found that they were indeed in the library…a library that was filled with angry Infected.

"Ah crap…" was all Francis could say as the former humans began crouching lower, preparing to charge.

"Time to go!" Michael shouted while sprinting past the biker, the other three following close behind.

Scanning the card quickly, the former dishwasher practically rammed through the door, holding it open briefly as the others filed out. Francis' gloved hand gripped the door tightly, and together, the duo slammed the door shut just as the first Infected ran into it. The survivors spun around, coming face to face with more Infected, who were just turning around to inspect the source of the noise. Both sides froze, staring at each other as the other Infected pounded on the door.

Louis pointed across the room, "Safe house!"

Needing no other form of prompt, the survivors fired into the crowd of Infected before dashing toward the reception desk. Hopping the counter, Francis turned, unloading shell after shell into the oncoming horde as a loud _crack_ indicated that the library's door had given way. A _click_ emitted from the pump shotgun, telling the biker that now was a good time to fall into the safe room, which he did. As Francis fell on his ass, Michael and Louis slammed the bright red door shut, moving out of the way as Bill and Zoey bolted it. The group unconsciously backed away from the door as the wave of Infected pounded against it.

"Is that thing going to hold?" Michael asked semi-nervously, pointing at the door for emphasis.

Bill pulled a cigarette from a carton he kept in his jacket, lighting it and taking a drag before acknowledging the youth, "Usually does."

_**To Be Continued…**_

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Next Chapter: Awkward Elevator Rides

**Michael gets a lesson on the Special Infected, but even that isn't enough when the group comes across an acid-spitting zombie. Oh, and the elevator has some…technical difficulties.**

**A/N: Okay, first off: a reward to anyone who can correctly guess what killed Noah. What that reward is…I haven't thought about it yet, heh. On another note, I kept my word on the quicker update, hurray me (I'm not a bum after all!)! I know it wasn't that exciting of a chapter, BUT I now that I've actually crossed it over into the campaign setting, I have more to work with. I promise to make the next chapter more action-packed and I will also reveal the mysterious source of the glowing green goop. On a third note: any one who guesses after the next chapter won't be rewarded (cheapskates!). **

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	4. Awkward Elevator Rides

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would die more often (every time his character shouts at me, I just feel like setting him ablaze with a Molotov), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the cheap exploits that Valve keeps fixing -.-).**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 3: Awkward Elevator Rides

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_I can't feel my feet touching the ground…_

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**Inspired Music: "Ballroom Blitz" – The Sweet**

Michael let out a content sigh while rolling his neck around as he exited the washroom, clad now in his casual clothes. A pair of lightly faded jeans replaced the black slacks, worn running shoes on his feet. A white long-sleeved shirt covered his abdomen, his black T-shirt fitting over it. Michael stretched a little before trudging over to his bag, work clothes in hand. The safe house that they had taken shelter in was once the break room for the ER department. Francis had already taken pleasure in bashing open the vending machines lining the wall, opening the group to a variety of snacks. Everyone was kind of doing their own thing at this point. Bill had pulled up a chair to a table littered with bullets and ammunition magazines, and was now currently stocking his and the rest of the group's supply. Zoey was resting on the floor near a wall, giving herself some shuteye. Louis was rummaging through the cabinets, searching for anything the group could use. Francis was staring at the walls, reading the graffiti and writing that was scribbled on the pasty surfaces.

Michael picked up his bag, about to throw his work clothes in, but was struck by a sudden thought. Changing his mind, the youth tossed the clothes into a nearby corner away from the group. Bill raised an eyebrow at his companion's actions while pushing another bullet into a magazine for his pistol.

The youth merely shrugged, "Only have one bag, and I might as well just put the essentials in, right?" Bill gave a curt nod, a smirk tugging at his lips, before resuming his previous actions.

"What the hell is this?" Francis' voice called from the other end of the room.

The outburst jarred Zoey from her sleep, and was quick to shoot an annoyed glance at the biker. Nevertheless, she stood to see what Francis was complaining about, Michael following casually behind.

"What are you crying about over here?" Zoey grumbled while stepping up beside the large man.

"What's up with these numbers?" Francis grumbled, pointing at the wall for emphasis.

On the said wall were several numbers scribbled across the surface, along with a few insults. The numbers started out low, gradually growing bigger in value, but one stood out among the others: 53,595. The name 'SoulKeeper' was scrawled beside it, followed by a comment claiming the number to be a lie.

"Looks like some kind of…scoreboard," Michael remarked quietly.

"Scoreboard?" Francis muttered, slightly taken aback.

Zoey nodded, "Some video games have a high score list so you can compare your score with other people's. This is apparently people jotting down how many zombies they killed."

Bill scoffed from the back, "This sure as hell isn't a video game."

Michael shrugged it off and walked back to his bag, "So Bill, you said you guys would fill me on the 'shooting stuff,' care to do that now?"

"Zoey, give him the rundown, I'll fill in anything that you miss," Bill ordered gruffly, too caught up in his current activity.

"You may want to sit down for this, it's a bit lengthy," the young woman chimed while plopping down.

Michael nodded and dropped into an unoccupied chair, "Fire away."

"Alright, so if you watch the news, you already know about the regular Infected, right?"

The icy-eyed man nodded.

"Thank God, that saves some time," Zoey sighed, relieved. "You've already met the Boomer, other than those two, there's four more kinds of Infected you need to worry about."

Michael nodded again.

"First off, there are the Hunters. They're hood-wearing Infected that are quick, jumpers, and they growl like no tomorrow. Hunters can leap from God knows how far, and once they're on top of you, they're going to start tearing into you. They won't stop till you, or it, is dead."

"Sound like vicious rabbits to me," Michael snorted while folding his arms behind his head.

Zoey smirked grimly, "You'll love the next ones: the Smokers. They mainly attack from a distance using their tongues to reel you in like a fishing line."

"Wait…long tongues that wrap round you?" Michael asked in disbelief and received a nod from the woman. "What the fuck is this, tentacle-rape?"

"Apparently," Zoey muttered while crossing her arms.

There was a pause and Michael quirked an eyebrow, "Have you…?"

Zoey's cheeks puffed out in annoyance, "It was one time."

"Don't let her lie, the Smokers love her!" Francis chirped from the back of the room.

"Shut up, Francis!" the woman shouted in response, slamming her fists down on the armrests.

"Whatever, keep going," Michael interjected before the two could start an argument.

Zoey huffed, "Anyway, the Smokers are noticeable from their fits of coughing and a small could of smoke that follows them around. They explode in said cloud of smoke when they die, and that shit feels like someone is trying to squeeze the life out of your lungs."

Michael nodded, "So walking water balloons, killer rabbits, and smelly frogs…next?"

The young woman's face changed drastically, her expression becoming gravely serious. The sudden change on Zoey's demeanor caught Michael's interest, and he leaned forward to better hear what she had to say.

"Here comes the scary shit," she breathed, a haunted look glazing over her eyes. "Tanks…you remember the Incredible Hulk?"

The youth only nodded.

"Yeah, now picture a grey, zombified version of that, and you have the Tank. These things are mad strong, capable of throwing cars and ripping large chunks of cement from the ground. They're mean, they're angry, and they don't go down easily, hence the name, 'Tank.' The Tanks are no laughing matter, since joining Bill's group, we've only encountered two. We managed to escape the first, and the second we had to blow up a gas station to finally kill."

Michael remained silent, figuring it wasn't the right time to pitch the steroid comment swimming in his head.

"Lastly we have…" Zoey trailed off, unable to continue, a fearful expression crossing her features as she recalled an unpleasant memory.

"Lastly, there's the Witch," Bill informed, deciding it was a good time to pick up where the girl left off. "She sits and wails in dark and obscure areas to lure unsuspecting survivors to her. When the group thinks it's another survivor, they make their way toward her. Upon coming too close, her personality flips, going from sad to enraged in an instant. She'll attack and literally _rip_ whoever disturbs her to shreds, after that, she runs off crying."

"Not to mention those long-ass claws she has," Francis muttered while approaching the three.

Michael paused for a moment before turning to Bill, "You're talking about this zombie as if its some kind of…myth."

Zoey finally spoke, "We've all seen it…but it was from a distance."

"So…you guys saw some other poor saps stumble onto this 'Witch' and get torn apart?" Michael questioned, to which they only nodded.

"Hey guys, look!" Louis called from the cupboards, effectively taking the others' minds off their conversation.

The dark-skinned man hauled himself out of the compartment, tugging an assault rifle with him.

"Who the hell leaves an assault rifle in a cupboard?" Francis questioned in bewilderment as the others just gawked at Louis' find.

"No idea…Louis, toss that over here," Michael called while clapping his hands.

The firearm flew through the air and was gingerly caught by the icy-eyed youth. Michael glanced over the rifle once before removing the magazine, popping the bullet in the chamber from the gun while doing so. Cocking the bolt back, the young man aimed at an imaginary spot on the wall before pulling the trigger. With a satisfied grin, Michael once again inspected the rifle, finding a switch to toggle the firearm from 'Burst' to 'Auto.'

"Oh yeah, I call this baby right here," he said pleasantly while plopping down at the table, rummaging through the bucket of bullets.

Bill scoffed, "And what makes you think that?"

"Bill, have you ever heard of 'Grand Theft Auto?'"

"No."

Michael smirked, "Well, there you go."

The veteran just stared in confusion as the newcomer defended his case without even glancing up from the ammunition. "What?"

Michael merely shrugged as he slid the now full magazine back into the rifle, cocking the bolt and clicking the safety 'on' before standing up.

"How's the hallway look?" Francis called while running a gloved hand over his shaven head.

Zoey peered through the slot of the door before pulling back, "As good as it's going to get, probably."

Michael stuffed a few more magazines into his back before slinging it over his shoulders, grabbing a first-aid kit while doing so, "Then let's get the fuck out of here, shall we?"

The others nodded in agreement as Francis waltzed over to the thick door, shotgun slung over his shoulder. With one effortless movement, the biker pulled the bar from the slots, propping the piece of metal against the wall. Francis nudged the door open slightly, his hand dropping down to the pistol holster at his side. Giving a quick nod to the rest of the survivors, the large man kicked the door open, the large metal panel swiveling around sharply. Stepping out into the hallway, Francis brought the pistol up, dispatching the nearby Infected before they could even rile themselves up. The large man gave a quick signal with the pistol before holstering it, the others filing out of the safe room quietly. Louis gently shut the red door, giving Francis the go-ahead while readying his Uzi.

"Stairs are right down here," Michael whispered while moving forward, peeking around the corner for any threats.

Darting around the corner, the icy-eyed youth let a flurry of bullets explode from the barrel of his rifle, dropping the four Infected that were shambling further down the corridor.

"Wow, they seem mellower down here," Michael commented as they made their way to the staircase.

Bill snorted something incoherent, but other than that, remained silent as the five scaled the stairs to the second floor.

"So where are we now?" Zoey asked to break the silence.

"Staff Cafeteria and recovery rooms," Michael answered from the front as they rounded the corner into a large room. "So, you guys told me what the Hunters and everything else look like…but what about the Smokers?"

As if to answer his question, a long, pink, boil-covered tongue whipped out from above, coiling tightly around Michael's abdomen. With a sharp tug, the air was ripped from his lungs as the slimy appendage pulled him toward the wall. With a loud grunt, the youth was lifted off his feet, the loss of support causing the tongue to constrict his midsection even more. A chocked gasp emitted from Michael's lips as the tongue began to coil tighter. Cracking his eyes open, he saw his companions raise their firearms toward something above him. Several shots rang out and Michael felt the tongue give way, causing him to fall painfully on the ground.

"Ow," the youth groaned as Bill and Francis hauled him to his feet, a loud screech emanating from above.

"That's what a Smoker looks like," Zoey noted dryly while aiming her pistols upward.

Holding his stomach, Michael glanced up to the balcony above them, where a grotesque Infected stood. Dark green fumes rose from various boils covering its body. The zombies entire figure look offset, boils of varying sizes covering its entire left side. A long, dangling tongue hung from its mouth, swaying lightly as the Infected let out a hacking cough. Before Zoey could open fire, the Smoker let out a scream and bounded down the hallway into the staff lounges.

"Should we follow it?" Michael winced as he picked up his discarded assault rifle from the floor.

"No, it'll come to us, just keep a sharp eye out," Bill informed while taking point, the flashlight on his shotgun shining across the hallway up the staircase.

Trudging up the stairs, the group scanned the long hallway ahead of them, finding no Infected to care of. Moving forward, the group was stopped when a few quiet grunts emitted from an open door on their left. Pressing a finger to his lips, Francis crept toward the door silently, which was swung open into the hallway itself. Pressing an ear to the wood, a grin split across the biker's face. Francis jerked his head toward the door, motioning to rest of the survivors as he gripped the doorknob tightly.

Throwing his arm forward, Francis slammed the door into the unsuspecting Infected on the other side. The former human stumbled back into the room as the biker threw the door open. Without even looking, Francis fired a shell from the doorway, the blast ripping apart the prone Infected and two others that were standing near it. The biker pumped his shotgun, the used shell flying from the chamber in a smoking heap. Pivoting to his right, Francis pulled the trigger again, painting the wall red as another Infected charged at him. A series of shots rang out behind him, and the biker turned, seeing two more Infected lying on the ground only a few feet from him.

"Francis, learn to check the entire room before you go charging in there," Bill lectured while adding a fresh shell to his shotgun.

"Whatever, old man," the biker grumbled while popping a few rounds into his own shotgun.

Michael quirked an eyebrow at the pair's banter, but said nothing as the group continued moving through the hallway. Five pairs of eyes gazed around cautiously, wary of the Smoker that still wandered the halls. Bill tilted his head back at Michael while pointing at a sign labeled 'Stairs' above them. The youth nodded in confirmation, following the elderly man through the door to the staircase. Reaching the top, the survivors stopped in front of the closed door leading to the floor.

"It's not much further to the elevator," Michael informed quietly. "We can beeline it straight through the Nurse Station, hang a right then a left, and we're there."

Louis pulled away from the small glass window of the door, "Doesn't look like very many Infected around, we can probably book it all the way there without being noticed."

Bill nodded, "Alright, Francis will take point and Michael will direct him. Knowing this big lug, he'll get lost on the way."

"Hey," Francis muttered defensively while frowning at the veteran.

Ignoring the biker, Bill continued, "Zoey will act as support from the center while Louis and I bring up the rear, any objections?"

"Yeah, I got o-" Francis began, a snarl on the edge of his words.

"No? Okay, let's move, people."

The biker's mouth hung open momentarily before he recomposed himself, griping quietly while flinging the door open. The group filed into the hall, moving into their designated positions quickly. Bill nodded curtly at the Francis, who glared back briefly before starting for the Nurse Station at the end of the corridor. A gunshot would ring out every now and then, a gray body collapsing onto the floor a moment later. Aside from the occasional Infected in the hallways, the entire floor was desolate, which was quickly gnawing at Bill's nerves.

"Up here," Michael broke the silence while hopping a small, makeshift barricade.

The area looked like it had been transformed into some kind of crude bunker. Another barricade was set up perpendicular to the one they had just passed over, blocking off the fork in the hallway. A small table was set up near the elevator where the wall jutted inward, filled with used, and unused, ammunition as well as a couple of sealed medical kits. Zoey was staring up at the display above the double doors, which read '28.'

"Aw crap," the young woman cursed, her eyes not leaving the glowing number.

"What is it?" Louis asked, immediately on his guard, Uzi aiming around. When no response came, Michael stepped up beside Zoey, glancing at the number while doing so.

Something clicked within his mind, catching onto what the other teenager was thinking, "Fuck…"

"Would you mind sharing with the rest of the class?" Bill asked dryly, his patience wearing thin.

"In every horror movie that I've seen, and I've seen a lot, whenever there's a moving elevator involved, bad shit happens," Zoey answered darkly. "Fuck!"

"Exactly," Michael muttered wryly, turning away from the elevator to face Bill.

The older man stared at the two, "This isn't a goddamn movie, kids; now get your heads together and start thinking clearly."

"I'm telling you…" Michael muttered, trailing off when Bill threw a glare his way. "Whatever, let's just do this."

Francis punched the 'down' button, the hum of the elevator's motor coming to life through the closed shaft. Moments later, ear-piercing howls rang out, seemingly in every direction, the faint sound of pounding footsteps in the distance.

"Fucking told you!" Michael shouted while readying his assault rifle.

"This is gonna be fun!" Francis roared with excitement, mad glee twinkling in his eyes.

The footsteps grew louder as the Infected approached, cries from above rose in volume as the elevator passed floor after floor. It sounded as if the gates of Hell were not only open, but were kicked down and ripped from the hinges. The snarls and shrieks were becoming deafening the sheer movement of the approaching horde shook the very floor they stood on. The screams clawed their way to the survivors' ears, and yet not a single zombie could be seen.

"Here they come," Bill informed somberly while pulling the shoulder stock of his shotgun out.

"Where?" Zoey screamed, her eyes moving around frantically.

The sound of plaster and wood breaking answered her question as swarms of Infected suddenly burst through the walls on either side of the group. The survivors didn't even have to time to react before a sea of gray bodies surged over them. The Infected weren't even attacking them per say. Instead, the former humans tackled the group, as if trying to crush them under the horde's weight. The Infected kept coming, eventually piling on top of the survivors to the point where they were no longer visible.

A muffled grunt escaped the confines of the undead dog pile, and a second later, an unfortunate Infected on the very top of the mound was sent skyward. The zombie slammed into the ceiling before dropping back onto the pile, rolling off harmlessly. A primal roar emitted from the center as several Infected were thrown backward, colliding with their charging brethren. Francis stood, a sneer on his lips as he used his shotgun as a makeshift bat, swatting Infected away from his companions. Once the Infected had stumbled back far enough, the biker flipped the firearm around, unloading a few rounds into the wall of zombies before they could act.

"Let's go, on your feet, ladies!" Francis shouted while reaching down, practically ripping Zoey's arm from its socket while pulling her to her feet.

The others shakily got to their feet, a few Infected slipping past Francis' shells. One latched onto Michael's arm, bearing its teeth in a crazed fashion. The youth swung his other arm around, his fist smashing into the enraged face. The Infected stumbled back, allowing Michael enough time to raise his assault rifle and kill it. Another Infected sprinted for Bill back, but the former Green Beret brought his fist up without even glancing, forcing the zombie to stagger backward. The consecutive blasts of dual pistols rang out, dropping the Infected before it could right itself. Zoey and Bill shared a brief nod before turning their attention back to the still charging horde of zombies.

A chime sang out from behind the survivors, indicating that the elevator had arrived on their floor. Francis waded quickly through the sea of Infected, firing into the crowd and smashing the closer zombies with the butt of his shotgun. Reaching the small table, the biker snatched a large tin can filled with bullets. Backpedaling, Francis booked it back the elevator, a loud scream from the back of the swarming Infected rose above the snarls. Louis and Michael sprayed bullets into the oncoming wall of zombies, covering Francis as he made his way to them. As the biker passed by, the two fell back, crossing the threshold into the compartment. The doors began to slow, the survivors continuing to fire into the horde as it charged closer to the elevator.

A boil-covered tongue pierced through the air and into the elevator, wrapping tightly around Louis' midsection. The bald man's Uzi clattered to the floor as the appendage gave a sharp tug, attempting to pull him from the small cubicle. Two pistols clattered to the floor as Zoey pulled her hunting rifle from its strap on her back. Taking quick aim, a shot rang out, the bullet flying over the crowd of Infected. A cough and the sound of something bursting resounded in the various noises of the masses of zombies. The tongue went limp, falling to the floor harmlessly as the doors closed all the way. Michael hit the button indicated '28,' and the elevator began its ascent while Louis hastily removed the tongue from his body. The small space was suddenly shrouded in tension.

Zoey laughed nervously, "I can't over how **fast** they all are, it's not fair. I'm calling Zombie Bullshit on that, you know. They're not **allowed** to be so fast."

Francis glared at the closed doors, "I hate elevators…and hospitals, and stairs, and doctors-"

"Damn it Francis, is there anything you don't hate?" Bill interjected irritably.

"You know what," Francis answered, the glare no longer donning his face. "I don't hate vests."

Louis shook his head while chuckling, "When things go back to normal, Zoey, Bill, Mike, I'm giving you all jobs! Francis! I'm a teach yo ass how to read!"

The others snickered as the glare returned to Francis' face, "Har, har."

Michael sighed and crouched, trying to take some of the weight off his feet as the elevator was enveloped in an uncomfortable silence. The ride remained silent for the most part, someone would cough occasionally, but other than that, the only sound was the sound of bullets being rifled through.

Zoey coughed awkwardly, "So, um…yeah…"

The elevator chimed again, the doors slowly opening, causing Bill to raise his shotgun, "Let's go, people."

Before the group could even exit the compartment, a loud hissing-screech resounded from the rafters above. The group's attention instantly snapped to the source, their flashlight focusing on a point where four beams converged. An abhorred Infected stood on one of the beams, unlike anything the survivors had seen before. It was once a woman, but that was the only thing they could actually conclude about its former life. The Infected's stomach bulged outward, but not nearly to the extent of the Boomer. Its neck was unnaturally long, sitting right below a gaping maw of sharp, blood-stained teeth. Yellow, beedy eyes shimmered from deep eye sockets, staring at the survivors eerily.

The Infected let out another raspy screech, a large bulge forming in the base of its neck. The gaping maw closed as the bulge moved up the lengthy throat. Opening its mouth again, the Infected jerked its head forward, letting a ball made of a strange, glowing substance fly from between the rows of teeth. The globe flew above the elevator, connecting with the pulley system attached to the top. The liquid splashed off across the compartment's roof, a small amount falling to the floor in front of the elevator doors. The green substance began to bubble, turning to a red hue as fumes rose from the puddle. A faint hissing could be heard as the liquid **melted** through the concrete of the floor. The elevator suddenly lurched, the lights flickering as the tiny room tilted.

"Out of the fucking elevator!" Michael shouted while diving across the threshold.

The others followed suit, Francis the last to exit. As his boots hit concrete, a loud _snap_ emitted from above as the elevator began freefalling down the open shaft. A loud hissing caused the survivors to raise their weapons automatically. The Infected ran through the rafters, trying to get into a better position, until a shot from Zoey's hunting rifle rang out. The bullet pierced through the zombie's stomach, the strange green acid spewing from the opening like a fountain. The Infected pitched backward, falling down the elevator shaft as the survivors moved to avoid the strange substance that was littering the area.

"What the hell was-" Louis began, but was cut off when a loud explosion reverberated up the empty shaft.

Five pairs of eyes widened in horror as an inhuman howl echoed from the lower floors. Screams and snarls seemed to be coming from every direction, and although they were far off, they were rapidly approaching.

"Safe house up ahead!" Bill shouted while pointing at the house picture that was spray painted on the wall with an arrow.

"Run for it!" Francis roared while taking the lead.

As the group hightailed it, a low growl caught Francis' attention. Skidding to a halt, and forcing the others to stop, the biker smirked as a hooded figure leapt out from around the corner. Had Francis still been running, the Hunter's jump would have been perfect, but since he had stopped, the Infected had passed through thin air and straight over the edge of the building.

Francis laughed and stepped up to the edge, gazing down, "Take that, damn sweatshirt-wearing wuss."

"Francis, we don't have time for this!" Zoey screamed while pulling her pistols out.

The biker's mirth was cut short when a figure darted around a few floors below.

"What the…" Francis muttered while peering down.

The figure was rebounding back and forth across two vertical beams, making its way to the floor he was currently on. When the biker could make out the details of a hood, his eyes widened.

"Fu-" was all Francis could utter before the Hunter bounced off a beam at his level, tackling the biker to the ground.

The Hunter's hands moved in a blur, its claws tearing at Francis' raised arms in an insane fury. Several shots boomed, ripping the hooded Infected's back and head apart. The force of the blows threw the Hunter limply over the edge of the building once again. Bill grabbed Francis' arm and hauled him to his feet before taking off with the others, the large biker following close behind. Rounding another corner, several hands reached up over the edge of the building, pulling Infected up.

"They're scaling the building?" Michael yelled in shock as the group of Infected began rushing toward the survivors.

Quickly mowing down the zombies, the group cut across to another wall painted with a safe house symbol. Glancing over his shoulder, Bill could make out of the charging rows of Infected. The former humans were climbing over bags of cement mix, weaving through wall frames, and slamming through various construction equipment.

"Faster, people!" The spry old man bellowed while picking up the pace.

Rounding another corner, the survivors finally saw their shining beacon of hope in the form of a bright red door. Francis pushed his way to the front of the pack, ramming the metal door open with a loud snarl. The others skidded to a stop inside the safe house as the large biker threw his shoulder back into the door, the metal screaming as this scraped across the floor. The others clambered to the the bolt in place, succeeding just as the wave of Infected crashed into it. The vicious snarls and roars filled the room, but the door remained steadfast, holding the horde at bay. The survivors fell back, exhausted, but kept a wary eye on the door.

"I hate vampires," Francis panted while leaning against the wall.

"They're zombies!" The others shouted exasperatedly.

**

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Next Chapter: Get to Da Choppa!

**Chicago Ted's name is defaced? A Boomer that doesn't believe in gravity? A gattling gun that spins all the way around? An epic leap to a hovering helicopter? Francis sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger! Oh dear…**

**A/N: ****Done! I apologize for the boring parts of this chapter, I'm still trying to ease Michael into the story. Hopefully, I'll have that little chore done by the next chapter. Oh, for those wondering, I WILL be spanning through all four campaigns, so this won't be a measily 4-5 cahpter story. I also apologize if there are any grammar issues toward the end of this update, apparently my Spell Check kicked out without my realizing. Since Soul was the only one to guess, you get the reward of Zombie Genocide (a lame reward, but I'm cheap, heh)! I bet nobody saw the Spitter coming. That's right, Reap's throwing the new Infected in this thing! With that being said, please R&R, your compliments/flames give me substanance!**


	5. Get to Da Choppa!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would die more often (every time his character shouts at me, I just feel like setting him ablaze with a Molotov), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the cheap exploits that Valve keeps fixing -.-). I do not own Tylenol…I own a bottle of it, just not the name.**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 4: Get to Da Choppa!

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_Take a look to the sky, just before you die…_

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**Inspired Music: "Midnight Ride" – Midnight Riders (Valve)**

"So…before all this shit happened, what did you guys do?" Michael queried casually from his spot against the wall, one leg bent at the knee to support his arm.

Louis scratched the back of his neck, "I was a Junior Systems Analyst for Terra Inc.'s IT department. Hated the job, but couldn't gather the guts to quit…I guess the virus did that for me."

Michael snorted while smirking, "Looks like it."

"Freshman at Fairfield Community College, but spent all my time holed up in my dorm room watching horror movies. I guess I was studying up on the right thing after all," Zoey informed while staring at the writing scribbled all over the walls, muttering the last part wryly.

Bill caught Michael's expecting stare, "Served as a Green Beret in 'Nam for two tours. After the war ended, I received an honorable discharge followed by many years of dead-end jobs and long nights with a bottle of Jack Daniels."

"I remember learning about the Vietnam War in History classes, it was a tricky situation for us," Michael recalled while scratching his cheek idly. "What about you, Francis?"

"Eh, crap life, crap family, crap jobs. The only place I really felt at home was when I was rolling with a gang called 'Hell's Legion,'" came the short and gruff reply.

Louis nodded his head at Michael, "What about you?"

The youth shrugged in response, "Not much to say; recently moved to Fairfield and got a job here. Didn't really know what I wanted to do for a career, and my parents made it specifically clear that they wouldn't help pay for school until I found something that interested me."

"What about your parents, where are they?" Zoey prodded, taking her attention off the walls.

"They're all the way down in Kansas, freakin' pancake. They're probably fine, most likely booked it to Florida with some other relatives inside the military zone."

"Who the hell is 'Chicago Ted'?" Francis asked, staring at a specific wall near the exit.

"Must you comment on every piece of graffiti in a safe house?" Zoey demanded exasperatedly.

Michael rose to his feet, walking over to the biker with Louis in tow.

"What now?" Michael asked tiredly while glancing over Francis' shoulder.

_**No zombie is safe from Chicago Ted!**_

The words stood out, written in near-perfect rows…for wall-writing that is. Francis' brows were furrowed as he stared at the sentence.

Louis quirked an eyebrow, "Need help reading it?"

"Shut it," the biker snarled in return while snatching a black sharpie from a nearby sawhorse.

"What are you doing?" Michael inquired curiously as the large biker scribbled several jagged lines over the 'Chicago Ted.'

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Francis snapped back while jotting down 'Francis' beside the angry jumble of black lines.

"'No zombie is safe from Francis,'" Louis read the new message aloud.

Francis grinned, "Damn right, and don't forget it!"

Bill sighed and covered his face with his hand while shaking his head. Louis pulled a half-eaten loaf of bread from his pack, his stomach growling quietly. Zoey rolled her eyes and made her way over to a crude table covered with various supplies. Rummaging through a bunch of useless rags and construction equipment, the young woman's eyes widened upon seeing what lay underneath.

"Guys!" Zoey called, drawing the attention of her comrades.

Francis grinned widely when the sole female of the group raised a gray tube with a fuse in the air, "A pipe bomb, groovy."

Michael's head snapped toward the large biker, staring at him incredulously as the others snickered quietly.

"What? It **is** groovy," Francis muttered while trying to defend himself.

"Weh wuedy?" Louis asked through a slice of bread stuffed in his mouth, readying his Uzi for added emphasis.

Bill nodded, "Let's get out of here; I'm running low on smokes."

The group sounded their agreement as Zoey attached the pipe bomb to her belt.

The veteran gripped the bolt and glanced over his shoulder, "This is it people, we're at the final stretch. Francis…try not to screw anything up."

Francis scoffed, "Hey, the gas station thing ended up working, did it not?"

Bill said nothing; instead, he popped the bar from the door and nudged it open. Spotting no Infected, the aging man motioned for the others to exit the room. Louis, being the last one out, quietly closed the red door and nodded at Bill. The group carefully treaded up the stairs, moving into the next floor.

The remodeling was obvious, the walls in the hallway were stark white, the floor concrete, and construction equipment was littered across the narrow corridor. A few standing lights were scattered around, providing light in certain areas, but leaving the rest of the area cast in pitch black.

Bill glanced back at the others, "Stay close, eyes sharp."

Paranoia slowly set in as the Survivors passed by blackened spots, their flashlights helping only so much. A shriek suddenly echoed from a room to their left as an Infected came barreling into the hallway. Before anyone could act, the former human slammed into Zoey, knocking her into an adjacent room, and into the veil of darkness. A shotgun blast rang out as Francis downed the Infected before it could spin around to attack them. Three beams of light shined through the dark room, searching for their companion. Zoey scrambled to a crouching position as machine gun fire from Louis' Uzi whizzed past her ears. A series of bodies fell to the floor behind her, with more snarling resounding off the walls to her right. Raising her pistols, Zoey fired blindly into the darkness, killing an Infected as it came charging into the dim light. Two more Infected sprinted along the walls, weaving between the young woman's barrage of lead. Another burst of fire rang out behind her, and the two Infected fell to the floor mere feet from her.

Glancing to her left, Zoey spotted Michael's outstretched hand, the barrel of his assault rifle still smoking in his other hand. Accepting it with a gracious nod, the spunky teen allowed herself to hauled to her feet. Michael smirked briefly in response before turning to Bill, nodding curtly to let the elderly man know that everything was okay.

"You alright, kid?" Bill asked, glancing away to check the hall.

Zoey nodded, "Yeah, just surprised me is all."

The veteran merely nodded back before stepping back into the hallway with Francis, who was throwing a new shell into his shotgun. The group kept moving down the corridor, successfully avoiding any remaining Infected that were still shambling around. Rounding the corner, they stopped, staring in annoyance at the sight before them.

"Well…looks like the elevator's out," Michael commented dryly while observing the crumbled doors and broken cables.

"What now?" Francis grumbled, not really liking the possibility of backtracking through the hospital.

Louis crouched low, peering through the dim light in the shaft, "If I remember right, all elevator shafts should have a service ladder in them that stretches all the way to the top."

"Yeah, I think I see one in the far corner, and it looks like there's some railing we can use to get to it," Zoey confirmed while standing.

"Vent over here," Bill commented while jerking a thumb toward the metal panel.

"Allow me," Francis grunted while positioning himself before the vent cover. With one swift movement, the panel crumpled around the biker's boot as it kicked the flimsy piece of metal through the wall.

"I'll go first," Louis volunteered, crouching through the opening and into the elevator shaft.

A faint _burp_ from up ahead caused the business man's head to snap up instantly. A large figure waddled out from the darkness and came uncomfortably close to the dark-skinned man.

"Boomer!" Louis shouted, his warning immediately forcing the others to back up from the vent.

"Shoot it!" Francis yelled in return through the opening.

"I can't, it's too close!" the younger man screamed in response, panic lacing into his words.

The Boomer took a few more steps forward, sucking in a deep breath as it prepared to puke on its target. In an act of pure desperation, Louis hopped the railing on his left, grabbing the small ledge underneath the deformed elevator doors. The Boomer ceased its actions, tilting its head in confusion at the survivor's behavior. Louis scrambled across the ledge, moving himself over to the other end of the shaft. Glancing back, he noticed the Boomer had not moved, which could mean one thing: he was still in range. The obese Infected clawed at the railing in front of it, knocking the bars of metal down the seemingly never ending shaft. With a _burp_, the Boomer took a step forward…and fell through the large opening with a groan.

Louis slammed his eyes shut, preparing for the Boomer's bile, but it never came. Cracking an eye open, the dark-skinned man found the Infected nowhere to be seen. Louis looked around in a confused daze, the small voice of paranoia still eating at the back of his head. After a few moments, the adrenaline pounding in his ears subsided, allowing the businessman to hear Francis' annoyed voice.

"Hey Louis, I don't hear any Infected coming. You kill it or what?" the large biker called from the other side of the wall.

"Y-Yeah…it's gone, I think," a dumbfounded Louis managed to say, still gazing around for the Boomer.

"You think?" Francis' echoed in a confused mutter. "What the hell is he talking about?"

A second later, Michael popped through the broken vent covering, rifle at the ready. He glimpsed around after not immediately seeing his tie-wearing companion. Michael took a step back, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he found Louis hugging the railing on the other side of the shaft.

"Uh…Louis?" Michael asked slowly. "What are you doing?"

Louis' eyes continued to dart back and forth, "Boomer…hole…gonna puke on me…"

"Louis!" the icy-eyed youth shouted, breaking the other man from his stupor. The darker man's gaze fixed on him, Louis still clutching onto the railing for dear life. "It's okay now…the Boomer's gone, do you know where it went?"

Francis forced his way through the grate, his large frame barely fitting through opening. Standing, the biker shot Louis a confused glance before moving around the shaft to help him up. Zoey and Bill popped in shortly after, the former staring back and forth between Louis' dangling form and Michael.

The youth shrugged, "No idea what the hell happened."

As Francis hauled Louis back over the railing, the younger man shook his head, "One second the Boomer was there, and the next, it was gone."

The biker peered down the elevator shaft, "You think it was stupid enough to fall down the hole?"

Bill grunted while moving toward the service ladder, "I don't know, why don't you ask the next one we see?"

Francis growled quietly in response, but chose to keep his mouth shut as the veteran ascended the ladder. The remaining four huddled around the ladder's base, waiting for Bill to scope out the floor above them. Zoey was leaning against the railing around the hole, a picture of exhaustion as her head tilted down, eyes half-lidded and a few strands of hair falling in front of her face. Francis stood to the left of the ladder, shotgun slung over his shoulder while his free hand hovered over the holstered pistol at his hip. Hard brown eyes were narrowed into slits as the biker gazed at the dark corners of the ceiling and walls on the level above them. Louis kept glancing down the elevator shaft, almost as if he was expecting the Boomer to fly up the hole and attack them. Michael stood with slight impatience, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, gazing at Bill's boots, the only part of Bill that was visible to them, the entire time.

The group was shrouded in silence until a sharp _creak_ emitted from behind them, glancing back, the men found Zoey leaning dangerously over the elevator shaft, fear flashing through her blue eyes. A loud _snap_ rang out as the railing gave in, robbing the girl of her leverage. Zoey let out a sharp scream as gravity began pulling her into the dark abyss, the wind already starting to whip around her hair. As she fell past the edge, the last thing Zoey saw was Francis leaping toward her.

A gloved hand grasped Zoey's pale one tightly, effectively halting her descent. Glancing up sharply, the young woman found Francis dangling headfirst just above her, a worried expression on his face. Below them, the broken railing clattered loudly against the shaft as it fell. Opening her mouth to ask how the hell he was defying gravity right now, a strained shout emitted from above them.

"Holy crap, Francis; have you been eating a box of Twinkies every day for the past five years?" Michael shouted down the hole, one arm wrapped around the biker's leg and foot, the other gripping the undestroyed rail tightly. Louis emitted a grunt from beside him; a firm hold on the large man's other leg.

"Shut it and help us up, damn it! I don't know how long I can hold her!" came Francis' annoyed roar.

"Wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so damn heavy," Michael grunted while pulling at the jean-clad leg.

"Are you calling me fat?" the biker demanded from the darkness below.

"Hell…yes…!" Louis hollered back while tugging at the other leg. After a few moments of struggle, the pair finally managed to pull their companions up just as Bill jumped off the ladder, demanding to know what happened.

"Well, you see-" Michael began, but was stopped by a series of inhuman howls from below them, the Infected having been roused by the ruckus.

"Aw fuck!" Francis roared while snatching up his shotgun, which had been discarded in his leap to save Zoey.

Bill gnashed at his teeth, "Up the ladder! Get to the roof!"

The resonance of the rapid footsteps grew closer as the survivors hauled themselves up the two ladders with lightning speed. Bill, the last of the group to reach the rooftop, spun around and slammed the paneled door shut over the ladder, securing the latch while doing so. The faint sound of the helicopter pilot's voice crackled through the speaker of a two-way radio nearby. Quickly glancing around, the group scanned the immediate area for any signs of Infected. Finding none, the survivors let out a short, collective sigh of relief. They were safe…for now. Hopping down onto the damaged helipad, they moved swiftly toward the location of the radio.

Zoey clicked her tongue and nodded toward a structure further down the roof, indicating the source of the pilot's voice. The building looked to be two floors tall with a set of closed double doors. There were two large windows that lined the sides, but from the looks of it, they had both been smashed in. A couple of spotlights were situated at the top, their florescent light reflecting off the metal of a gattling gun that was positioned at the roof's edge.

Bill scanned the area one last time for any Infected before pressing himself against the closed door. With a deep breath, the veteran kicked the doors in, shotgun sweeping left and right in search of any threats. Finding none, the senior motioned for the group to enter while he moved toward another closed door at the end of the room. His boots crunched against several broken shards of glass as he moved, his nostrils picking up the sharp smell of death almost instantly. His face scrunching slightly from the stench, Bill raised his arm and covered his nose while detouring to another door further along the wall. The door was blue and opened slightly ajar, but was still blocking the source of the smell. Vicious claw marks were etched across its flat surface, indicating that some kind of struggle took place. Using the barrel of his shotgun, the former soldier nudged the door open, revealing a mangled corpse inside, flies already buzzing around it.

All but Francis and Bill turned away from the sight, various looks of disgust and horror on their faces.

Francis narrowed his eyes and sneered at the gore-filled closet as Bill somberly closed the door, "I don't think he's getting back up."

"Can it, Francis," Bill snapped irritably, his eyes burning a hole into the biker's head.

"What? I'm just saying," Francis growled back, refusing to back down to the spry old man.

"And you've said enough, now shut it!" the veteran whipped back.

"Both of you stop it," Michael murmured impassively while moving toward the pile of ammunition.

"You seem to be taking this well," Zoey commented cynically.

Michael shrugged while topping off his magazine, "I have the television to thank in my desensitization. I guess now it's actually coming in handy."

Louis shuffled uneasily toward the radio, the former businessman glancing over his shoulder every now and then, "Can we call for help now? I don't think that service door's going to hold forever."

Bill nodded at him before moving to the double doors and closing them. Louis picked up the corded mic and held down the button, taking a deep breath, he brought it to his lips, "Uh, hello?"

There was a pause of silence before the pilot's voice crackled through the speakers, "Thank goodness someone else made it out. Looks like you guys will be my last run today. I'm sorry, but I'm on the other side of the city at the moment, give me a few and I'll be right there!"

"Roger that!" Louis said a little _too_ enthusiastically as the feeling of hope washed over him. He turned to find his companions all giving him blank looks. "What?"

Francis rolled his eyes before kicking the closer door open, revealing a staircase, "Never mind, but I call the gattling gun."

Bill scoffed from behind him, "Do you even know how to use one of those things, sonny?"

Francis stopped abruptly and shoved two fingers in the veteran's face. Lowering a finger, the biker muttered darkly, "One, don't call me 'sonny.'" A smirk tugged at his lips quickly, "And two, any idiot can work a gun."

The biker turned and jogged up the steps, leaving Bill to gawk at his retreating back. Recomposing himself, the senior charged up the staircase after his larger companion, "That's what I'm afraid of!"

Michael turned to Zoey and Louis while quirking an eyebrow, frowning slightly when they shrugged, clueless as well. With a shrug of his own, the icy-eyed youth started after his group mates, Zoey following close behind. Louis moved to join his fellow survivors, but stopped short when he noticed a white bottle on the table beside him. Snatching the bottle into his hand, Louis quickly held it to the light.

"Tylenol, huh…well, I guess it'll help with the minor stuff." Stuffing the bottle into his bag, Louis sprinted up the stairs, making sure to shut the door behind him.

The sight that awaited him was…peculiar, to say the least. Francis had fallen to his knees and was currently hugging the gattling gun, a mad grin already beginning to form on his lips. Bill was all business, patrolling the edges of the building warily while scoping out the rest of the rooftop. Michael was at the roof's edge, his eyes sweeping across the expanse of the metropolis as they searched for any sign of the helicopter. Zoey was doing an once-over on her gear, making sure everything was in check. Although she was hiding it well, Louis could see the young woman take quick, fleeting glances toward the roof-access door. Closing the door, the survivor made his way over Bill, clearing his throat lightly to draw the veteran's attention.

"So what's the plan?" Louis asked as casually as he could, attempting to maintain his cool despite the situation.

An audible _crack_ emitted from the other side of the roof before Bill could answer. Five pairs of eyes snapped toward the source of the noise, finding, to their horror, the roof-access door being ripped from its hinges. Infected surged from the small opening like ants from an anthill, quickly swarming across the rooftop.

"Kill 'em all!" Francis answered with a shout, the spinning turret unleashing a stream of bullets into the oncoming crowd.

Bill raised his shotgun, "Fan out, keep them off this roof!"

Francis' gunfire kept the horde at bay for only a moment before sheer numbers began to dominate the situation. Infected began teeming into the bottom floor of the structure between the biker's sweeping fire. More Infected began scaling the building's walls, while others were sprinting across the piping that connected them to several other structures on the rooftop. A muffled _bang_ echoed from below them, and the loud shuffling of feet indicated that the first door had given in.

"There's too many of them!" Louis shouted while gunning down a group of Infected climbing the nearby wall.

"There's only too many if you're not shooting enough of them!" Francis called over the roar of his gattling gun.

"Mike, watch the door!" Bill ordered quickly before blasting a hole through an Infected's stomach.

"On it!" the youth nodded in turn while spinning around, rifle aimed at the already splintering door.

A section of the wood exploded from the frame, revealing several flailing grey arms and blood-stained faces. Michael pulled the pin back before firing into the opening, a shower of blood and puss raining out through the doorway. The door chipped vertically down the middle before giving way with a sickening _crack_. Scores of Infected charged onto the roof, snarls and grunts emitting from their seemingly endless numbers.

"Bill!" Michael screamed while doing his best to slow their advance, spraying bullets left and right.

The elderly man turned on his heel, eyes widening before taking a few steps forward, shells firing one right after another into the wall of grey bodies. There was a small break in the waves of zombies, which the veteran took advantage of to check on his companions. Bill gave a quiet growl at what he saw. Although he doubted any of them realized it at the moment, they were slowly being separated. The lines of Infected standing between them were growing thicker with every passing second. It wouldn't be long before they were all lost in the sea of zombies.

Pistols blazing, Zoey fired in every direction, knowing, with a hint of anxiety, that no matter where she shot, she would hit an Infected. A series of _clicks_ emitted from her weapons, the persistent and deathly sound causing the young woman's blood to run cold. As if sensing the shifting tide, the surrounding Infected surged forward. Zoey's arms swung outward, slamming the empty firearms against the oncoming zombies.

One female Infected slipped past the flailing arms behind Zoey, blood-stained teeth sinking into the young woman's shoulder. The survivor felt a scream escape her lips as pain shocked her entire body. Gathering herself to a degree, Zoey had the presence of mind to smash her elbow into the Infected's face. The former human stumbled back in a daze, its normally enraged features twisted into a look of confusion.

With the survivor's attention turned away, the remaining Infected lunged forward, punches, kicks, claws, and teeth raining down on Zoey's unguarded back. The sudden assault forced the young woman to fall harshly onto the ground. Pulling her arms and legs in, Zoey curled into a fetal position as the Infected continued to punch and kick at her prone form.

"Guys!"

"Shit! Zoey!" Louis' call could barely be heard over the snarls of the former humans.

Machinegun-fire sang out as a flurry of bullets ripped through the Infected surrounding Zoey. Blood sprayed from the dead zombies, splashing onto the young woman as she sat up, a pained, but disgusted, grimace on her face. Louis raced over, hooking an arm around his companion's.

"Come on girl, rise and shine!" The dark-skinned man shouted while pulling Zoey to her feet. To woman leaned heavily into him, pained gasps emitted from her lips and a dark red stain glaring out against the soft pink of her jacket.

"Shit, we'll need to patch that up," Louis muttered, distracted by the injury as a group of Infected climbed up the piping behind them.

Faint _whirring_ hummed somewhere off to the side, and a moment later, repetitive blasts roared from Francis's gattling gun, tearing through the charging Infected. Louis felt his heart stop dead as he heard and **felt** the bullets whiz past his head. The roar of the gun died down, smoke drifting out of the various barrels as the turret slowed to a stop.

Francis glanced up from the crosshairs, "She okay?"

"She'll live, and what the fuck was that, Francis? You almost shot me!"

"But I didn't shoot you, and that's the important thing!"

"Less talking and more shooting!" Michael shouted while slamming the stock of his rifle into an Infected's face, simultaneously popping the empty magazine from its slot. As the zombie staggered and fell backwards, the youth pulled a fresh cartridge from his pack, sliding it into the assault rifle. The fallen Infected shakily rose to its feet, only for its abdomen to explode in ribbons of crimson as Michael squeezed the trigger of his firearm.

A scream echoed through the air as a hooded figure pounced on top of Michael, pinning him to the ground. Blood-stained teeth grinned maliciously as razor-sharp claws began to tear at the survivor.

A Hunter, this was the first time Michael had seen one up close and **damn** was it ugly. Two red eyes seemed to glow from behind the shadow of the hood, almost alight with glee at the thought of being able to kill something. A bloody grin had spread across its gray face, all of its teeth having been fined down to a sharp tip each. Blood oozed from its gaping maw, trailing down its chin and seeping into the collar of its dark green hoodie. Its nails were pointed and curved, ideal for shredding. The Hunter's claws moved a blurred frenzy, ripping into Michael's arms as he desperately attempted to shield himself.

Bill smashed the butt of his shotgun into the side of the Hunter's head, knocking it off Michael. With the weight of the hooded Infected suddenly gone, the youth sat up, eyes widening as the Hunter crouched low, tensing its leg muscles. The beast let loose a scream and leapt toward Michael with unbelievable speed. However, Bill's trained reflexes proved to have the upper hand. A cone of lead penetrated the Hunter's side, knocking it sideways and off the building.

"Shit, those things are fast!" Michael exclaimed as the veteran hauled him to a standing position.

Bill smirked, "You'll get used to it."

The echoing sound of helicopter blades reached the survivors' ears. Five heads immediately shot up as the news chopper blazed around the rooftop, hovering just over the destroyed landing pad.

_"Hurry up and get in! I can't hold it here forever!"_

"You heard the man, ladies, lets-" Francis began, but was silenced when a deafening roar resounded through the air.

The group's attention snapped to the structure behind them, where a large meaty hand gripped the hospital's AC unit tightly. With a grunt, the hand crushed the unit like a tin can as it lifted a bulky gray body onto the rooftop. Letting out a quiet snort, the behemoth moved toward the edge of the small building. The survivors could only stare in shocked horror as the monstrosity caught sight of them, its milky eyes quickly shifting to an angry shade of red.

"W-What the fuck is that thing…?" Michael whispered quietly in honest amazement.

"TANK!" Louis screamed, finally finding his voice while pointing an accusing finger at the creature above them.

"Get to da choppa!" Francis shouted as the Tank slammed its fists into the ground, pulling a large chunk of the roofing from its place.

With a roar, the large Infected threw the debris at the group, which scattered to avoid the projectile. The slab exploded in a storm of cement of plaster, temporarily blinding the humans in a cloud of dust.

Michael coughed into his sleeve, his eyes watering as numerous dust particles invaded his sight. Despite the visual disruption, the youth could clearly make out the silhouette of the Tank as it dropped down a level, barreling toward them like a charging bull.

"You guys go on ahead, I got this!" Francis roared while attempting to swerve the gattling gun around, only to have it stop abruptly.

"Goddamn piece of shit!"

"Francis, just run you jackass!" Bill yelled while firing a few rounds into the gray flesh of the Infected as Michael hopped off the ledge and onto the rooftop below.

The biker ignored the senior's order; instead, he crouched low, irritably searching for the cause of the gun's lack of rotation. His eyes lit up as they spotted a metal securing rod that ran from the base of the turret to the stand. Raising his boot, Francis kicked the offending rod. The metal bent a fraction, and the biker kicked it again. With a grunt, the large man slammed his boot one more time into the bar, successfully breaking it off the stand.

"Ha!" Francis laughed triumphantly while twisting the gattling gun all the way around.

With a challenging stare, the biker smashed both of his thumbs into the button, the turret spinning to life. The machine gave a click, emitting a relentless barrage of bullets into the Tank as it bore down on the limping Zoey and Louis. The massive Infected flinched slightly as the hail of lead bit into its back. With an irate roar, the Tank spun around, charging toward Francis with renewed fury. Francis met the Tank's gaze with a primal glare of his own, not letting up on the gattling gun, even when the large Infected drew within swinging range.

"Get out of there, Francis!" Bill roared again, tearing his eyes away from the biker to gun down a couple of Infected stragglers.

Francis' eyes widened as the Tank lifted a large fist, slamming it into his torso and knocking him clear off the structure.

"Francis!" Zoey screamed while pulling away from Louis, who, in turn, began firing into the Tank, effectively drawing its attention away from his fallen companion..

The biker landed harshly a few feet away from the ramp, groaning as he struggled to rise. Scores of Infected began to spill though the service door once again, swarming across the rooftop like a flood.

A wall of Infected to their front, a Tank at their back…

Shit.

Gunfire rang out from behind Francis, tearing through a group of Infected that were sprinting toward the biker's fallen form. The large man found his arm being thrown over Michael's shoulders, the icy-eyed youth struggling to lift Francis to his feet.

"Come on, Twinkie-packer, get your ass up!" Michael grunted, earning a weak snarl from the larger man.

Another wall of Infected charged at them as the bulk of the horde climbed onto the roof. Michael awkwardly pressed the stock of his rifle into his shoulder, pulling the trigger and unloading his clip into the oncoming masses. The action seemed to have no effect as the zombies continued to rush toward them. The youth gritted his teeth as a consistent _clicking_ emitted from the chamber of his gun. A faint beeping echoed across the rooftop from somewhere behind Michael, causing the young man to steal a glimpse over his shoulder.

Zoey was running toward the pair, sparks flying from the gray tube in her hand, a small mechanism near the fuse emitting a blinking light and the incessant noise.

"Pipe bomb!" the brunette called out before throwing the explosive over the horde of Infected.

The pipe bomb bounced off the side of the helipad and skimmed across the sea of flailing hands. The device eventually fell between the roof-access and the building that housed a satellite dish. The Infected surged after the bomb, infuriated and primitively curious about the blinking, beeping cylinder.

The frequency of the beeps increased and before Michael was consciously aware, the tube exploded in a storm of fire. The Infected that were closest to the pipe bomb were utterly obliterated, while the zombies a few rows back were torn apart by the blast. Blood and gore splattered across the walls of the structures as the smoke settled.

Needless to say, the explosive did its job: creating a large gap in the masses of Infected. Zoey jogged forward, hooking Francis' other arm around her shoulder as she attempted to help Michael with guiding the biker up the ramp.

"Get off, I'm fine!" Francis growl while untangling himself from his companions. Clumsily picking up his discarded shotgun, the large man stumbled toward the helipad.

"Go, go, go, go, go, go!" Louis screamed as he and Bill rounded the corner, both survivors running as fast as they could toward the rest of their group. The Tank exploded around the corner, its shoulder tearing off a large piece of the structure as it passed.

With the Tank coming ever closer, Francis found it suddenly easier to find his step. The biker charged up the ramp, the rest of the survivors hot on his heels. Several gray hands gripped the edges of the helipad as a new wave of Infected was drawn by the sounds of the helicopter.

_"Hurry the hell up, they're comin' for me!"_

Michael reloaded his assault rifle quickly as they hit the wrecked helipad. The group did their best to slow the progress of the Infected, but the endless army was quickly forming a tight circle around them.

"I haven't come this far, damn it!" Bill shouted, knocking aside three Infected that were in his way.

"Let's go, everyone inside!" Francis ordered while stopping before the hovering aircraft.

The biker spun on his heel, firing rounds into the Infected that were getting a little too close for comfort. Michael spun around on the other side of the open door, fearfully shooting at the ferocious Tank that had yet to let up on its chase. Louis, the last one in line, hopped into the helicopter as it started to drift away.

"What are you doing?" Zoey screamed while gripping the pilot's seat tightly.

"That thing's going to take us out if we don't get out of here now!" the pilot frantically responded.

Louis twist around, Uzi spraying into the horde, "Hurry up, guys!"

Francis glanced at Michael, "Move it, punk!"

"You look like a hobbling old man, you go first!" Mike responded defiantly.

Michael suddenly felt himself being lifted off the ground by the back of his shirt.

"Don't argue with me!" Francis roared while throwing the youth into the helicopter.

The biker stole a glimpse behind him, finding the Tank plowing through the smaller Infected as if they weren't even there. Looking forward, Francis found the helicopter continue to hover away from the helipad. The large man took a few steps back.

"This is gonna hurt like hell in the morning," Francis muttered while sprinting toward the edge of the building.

At the last moment, the biker leapt as far as he could, his boots barely making it onto the compartment floor. Francis began to lean back dangerously, a look of surprise donning his face. Louis and Bill shot forward, catching the larger man before he could teeter over the edge. Michael gripped the railing of the sliding door, preparing to close it when he caught sight of the Tank tearing a piece of cement from the ground.

"Incoming!" the icy-eyed youth warned while sliding the door shut quickly.

The pilot tilted the controls, expertly avoiding the projectile as it narrowly missed the spinning blades of the helicopter. The pilot then pushed forward, forcing the aircraft to tilt at an angle as it rapidly picked up speed. Zoey glanced out the window, watching as the hospital shrank into the distance.

"I can't believe we made it," she breathed while slumping into a foldout seat on the wall.

"Hot damn, you lot sure know how to make an exit!" the pilot exclaimed while glancing back at the survivors briefly.

Bill snorted while resting his shotgun against his shoulder, "Where are we headed?"

The pilot unclipped a folded map from the dashboard and tossed it back at the veteran, "Well, if I could, I'd take you straight to the ASZ. Unfortunately, it's a little too far away, so I'm going to drop you off in Newburg with the rest of the groups I've been running. According to the reports I've received, Newburg's running mass-scale evacuations via airplane."

The senior nodded while scanning over the map, "Sounds like a plan."

Michael's head shot up at the mention of Newburg, "We're heading to Newburg?"

The pilot nodded in confirmation, "Yes sir."

The youth leaned back into his seat, images of Wyatt and Alex flashing through his head.

'You guys better be alive.'

**

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Next Chapter: Checking In.

**Who knew that a fear of heights would mean anything in the zombie apocalypse? "I'll take the hundred in front, and you can have the hundred behind us." After an awkward landing, the Survivors find themselves stuck in Newburg.**

**A/N: Apologies for the long update, classes and work were getting in the way, but things are starting to slow down a little bit now. The elevator scene was inspired by the small, not so much of an exploit, "safe spot" near the elevator doors that players use to insta-kill Witches and Tanks if done right, since they path toward you….and fall straight to their dooms. I'm constantly annoyed by that fact that the gattling guns can't pivot all the way around, pretty much making them useless if your group doesn't know how to properly watch your back. So, here we have Francis solving that problem using brute force. Now we see our loveable survivors heading into the Dead Air campaign, where their flight gets delayed….PERMANENTLY! (Apologies, Beta Reader made me stick that in there.) Anywho, nothing much else to say about this chappy except please R&R.**


	6. Checking In

**Disclaimer: I do not own Left 4 Dead, Valve does. If I did own the game, Zoey wouldn't be so polite ("You are welcome, sir." Seriously, you expect this from an 18/19-year-old?), Louis would have an animation whenever he would "sense" pain pills (thieving bastard always taking my peelz!), Bill would be able to kill Infected with his bare hands (you'd figure an ex-Green Beret would have more 'ass-kickery'), and Francis would actually like something other than vests (like the cheap exploits that Valve keeps fixing -.-). I do not own Tylenol…I own a bottle of it, just not the name.**

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Call of the Grave

By: Confused Confusion

-(,,,,,/-\-((o.O))-/-\,,,,,)-

Chapter 5: Checking In

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_Still alive through the raging glow…_

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**Inspired Music: "Ladies and Gentlemen" - Saliva **

The inside of the helicopter was oddly silent, especially with the rambunctious group of survivors that it was housing. Despite this, the silence brought a certain sense of peace with it. Michael was still slumped in the same position he was in ever since they left the overrun Fairfield, lost in thought. Bill was thoroughly examining the map the pilot had given him, mentally noting the quarantine zones and evacuation posts that were located in their general area. A faint snore emitted from Francis' throat, the biker reaching up and unconsciously scratching the side of his face from his spot on the floor.

Zoey suddenly winced, releasing a quiet gasp of pain while reaching up to tenderly touch her shoulder. The small movement seemed to draw the attention of her companions, even the now awake Francis. The pain quickly vanished under the concerned stares of the others, forcing the woman to let out a nervous laugh.

"Shoulder still bothering you?" Louis asked while reaching into his pack.

Zoey nodded, accepting the first aid kit as the former businessman handed it to her. Slipping off the pink jacket, she grimaced upon seeing the severity of the wound. Tiny holes lined the top of her shoulder in two curved rows, clearly indicating a bite mark. Dried blood covered her shoulder, arm, and back, putting forth the illusion that the wound was more severe than in reality. Zoey gripped the hem of her white T-shirt, intending on removing it to gain better access to clean the injury. She froze, however, in mid-movement upon realizing that the other survivors were still staring at her.

"Ahem, a little privacy?" the brunette requested, venom dripping from her words.

The four immediately complied, coughing in embarrassment while turning around to preoccupy themselves.

"So…is this pay-per-view or something?" Francis inquired innocently, pivoting his head around just ever so slightly.

The biker's response came in the form of Bill's hand snapping across the back of his head.

"Ow, damn it Bill!" Francis snarled while bringing a gloved hand up to tenderly rub his cranium.

Bill snorted, "Just look out the window and watch the pretty scenery, Francis."

The larger man grumbled something incoherent, but looked out the glass pane anyway. The senior turned his attention to Michael, who was once again lost in thought.

"Hey, kid."

The glaze over the youth's eyes disappeared as Michael turned his attention to the elderly man.

Bill leaned forward, "How're your arms doing?"

Michael pushed up the torn sleeves of his white shirt, revealing only a few minor, barely noticeable scratches.

"Pretty good, you knocked the Hunter off before it could cause any real damage."

The veteran eyed him for a moment before nodding, seemingly content with the response.

"Well, on a plus note, it looks like you're immune," Bill stated while leaning back.

Michael shot him a questioning look, surprised by the sudden affirmation.

"We've been watching you ever since that Infected nicked you in the ER department," the older man verified slowly.

The youth blinked, "Wait, so you guys were ready to blow my head off that whole time?"

Bill smirked while nodding; the smirk growing as Michael rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

Michael gave the veteran a vexing look, "Any other _tests_ I need to pass?"

"Other than the 'Don't fuck us over' test, nope," Francis answered for Bill, as the elderly man was too busy chuckling.

The pilot suddenly let out a short, hacking cough, a sound which seemed to suck all other noise from the compartment. The survivors stared at the back of the man's helmet; even Zoey, now fully clothed, eyed the pilot warily as she zipped up her jacket.

Louis leaned toward the cockpit, drawing the attention of the pilot, "Hey, are you fee-What the hell are you covered in?"

Louis' sudden change of question brought the full attention of the others. The pilot's clothes were coated with what seemed to be a mix of blood, vomit, and a strange substance the businessman couldn't quite identify. The substance made the weary pilot look even more haggard, and the whole scene created a small sense of dread in the pit of Louis' stomach.

"Oh, this? Don't worry about it, one of my passengers from my last run had a bit of an upset stomach. Friend said that she had gotten a bit of food poisoning from some groceries they had scavenged the night before."

"And the cough?" Francis interjected, his voice and face laced with seriousness.

The pilot cocked his head around to look at the biker from the corner of his eye, "Had a bit of the Swine Flu this past month, had to take a week off work, but it's finally starting to go away."

As the man turned his attention back to navigating the helicopter, Bill and Francis shared solemn looks. The veteran shot Michael a commanding glimpse, beckoning the youth over with a subtle twitch of his hand. Zoey, sensing the change in mood, scooted over toward Francis.

Louis patted the side of the pilot's seat, "Hope you feel better soon."

The pilot responded with a short laugh, "Thanks."

The dark-skinned man shuffled back into the tight circle his companions had formed, where Bill was already quietly arguing with Zoey on the matter at hand.

"I'm just saying, there's a chance," Bill murmured calmly.

Zoey, however, did not look convinced, "You heard his story, he's not infected."

"Unless he's lying," Francis muttered while glancing to the side.

"And we don't know if he's immune," Michael added quietly.

"Are you guys honestly suggesting we kill the guy who just saved us!" the brunette hissed.

"It's a possibility that we may have to," Bill replied sternly while glaring at Zoey.

Louis leaned forward, "How about we just keep an eye on him and hope that we can make it to Newburg safely."

Michael jerked his thumb toward the businessman, "I vote for Louis' idea."

"It's gonna get us killed…" Francis offhandedly mentioned while leaning back.

Zoey frowned at the biker, "Not helping, Francis."

Francis shrugged lightly, "Not trying to."

"We'll keep an eye on him for now," Bill interrupted evenly, his stare shifting from person to person. "I can fly this bird well enough…so long as the controls haven't changed much since Nam."

The others nodded, gradually shifting back to their former spots in the compartment. There they sat, watching the pilot, hands close to their firearms. The man let out another hacking cough, this one longer than the last, and the survivors tensed unconsciously.

* * *

An hour had passed in uncomfortable silence…maybe even two. Despite the tense discussion the survivors had had a while back, things seemed to have slowed down a little. Michael slowly drifted in and out of sleep, his head lulling from the lack of focus. He was snapped out of his stupor, however, when the pilot let out another fit of coughs. Since picking them up from Mercy's rooftop, their savior had been through roughly six fits, each lasting longer than the former. The youth felt his hand drift to his rifle on instinct.

"Newburg up ahead," the pilot called, though his voice was weak and croaked. The survivors moved toward the nearest windows to catch of glimpse of the metropolis.

"Holy shit…" Zoey breathed while staring through the glass.

On the horizon, smoke and fire rose from the skyscrapers dotting the expanse. The air around the city glowed fiercely like embers in a fire. It looked as if someone had poured gasoline over the buildings and lit a match. Their safe haven and key to evacuation…was, quite literally, a burning Hell.

"Dear God in heaven," Bill muttered, his normally calm demeanor broken as he took in the sight.

Francis glared at the approaching city, "That doesn't look good."

The pilot turned slightly in his seat, "Don't worry too much about the fire, it's been like that for a while now. Most of the city's gone to hell, but CEDA and the military have a safety zone set up around the airport."

"The military's here?" Michael asked while tearing his eyes away from the view.

"Yep, unlike Fairfield and local militia, the government managed to call in the army before Dusk progressed too far in Newburg."

"And looked how effective they were," Francis snorted sarcastically.

The helicopter swayed lightly, the pilot slumping forward briefly before righting himself.

"You alright?" Louis called worriedly.

The pilot nodded slowly, "Yeah, just had a bit of the tunnel-vision there for a second, it's gone now."

The man suddenly pitched forward before he could say another word. The cyclic, without any hands to stabilize it, jerked around wildly, forcing the aircraft the sway violently. The survivors were thrown from their positions viciously, caught off guard by the sudden movement. Bill shot forward in a heartbeat, anticipating such an event. Wrinkling hands gripped the control tightly, halting its movements and leveling the helicopter.

"Louis, Michael, get him out of the chair!" Bill ordered while awkwardly keeping the cyclic firm. The two quickly complied, unbuckling the seatbelt and hauling the prone man's body back into the compartment.

"Just my freakin' day," the aging man grumbled while falling into the seat, taking a better hold of the controls. "Alright, I got her stabilized. How's he doing?"

"Completely out of it," Zoey answered while looking over Francis' shoulder, who was hunched over the pilot's abdomen.

Francis lightly slapped the man's face, reeling back with a grimace as the slime coated his hand, "Aw, that's _disgusting_."

"Watch him like a hawk back there, he may turn," Bill instructed, his voice steely.

"On it," Francis acknowledged lazily while wiping the substance-covered hand on his pant leg. Plopping back into his folding seat, the biker rested his shotgun across his lap, hand on trigger and barrel casually aiming at the pilot's head.

Minutes ticked by in edgy stillness as the chopper entered the outskirts of Newburg. The fire the survivors had seen from a distance was a towering inferno up close. Tall skyscrapers were wrapped in flames, making them literal pillars of fire. Trails of smoke coiled to the heavens and a dark sheen blanketed the city. Glowing embers danced through the air like fireflies, causing Francis to sneer at the site.

"So this is what the army does when they're called in to protect…glad they didn't come to Fairfield."

Bill ignored the insult and pulled out the folded map the pilot had given him, "Louis, get over here and let's see if we can find this damn airport."

The former businessman shot one last look at the unconscious pilot before pulling himself into the co-pilot seat beside Bill. Snatching the paper from the veteran's hand, Louis opened it and quickly began scanning through the markings.

"Can't read this guy's handwriting for shit," the dark-skinned man muttered while squinting at the chicken scratches scribbled across the map.

"Try harder," Bill snapped impatiently while sliding on the discarded headset.

"Alright, alright; I think I got the gist of it," Louis replied without looking up from the map. He tapped a large black circle, "From the looks of it, we need to head to 'Metro International Airport.'"

Bill flipped through the different channels, his frown deepening upon hearing static, "And that would be **where** from here?"

"No idea," Louis muttered while scowling.

Bill snapped alert when the static in his ear changed to a broken broadcast.

…_5__th__ Detachment…weapons and a ta-…currently situated at Holly…if anyone is…come find…_

The veteran swore loudly as the channel broke up, feeding more static into his ears.

"What is it?" Zoey called from her spot near the pilot.

Bill scoffed while removing the headset, "Apparently the military's still running around out there somewhere."

Louis blinked in surprise, "Seriously? Where?"

"Not sure, the message was broken up before I lost the feed on it, but they said something about 'Holly,'" the elderly man answered while leaning into his seat. Louis immediately went back to scanning the map.

"Well that's a good sign, right?" Michael asked while looking around. "I mean, if they're still here, then that means we still have a window of escape, right?"

Francis glanced over at the youth, "Unless the army got overrun and this little group is all that's left."

"Pessimism's not helping, Francis," Zoey mumbled irritably.

"Does it ever?" the biker shot back before turning his attention to the still unconscious pilot.

"Found it!" Louis cried while tracing an imaginary line on the map.

"Found what?" Bill questioned while leaning over slightly, but kept straight enough to keep the cyclic stable.

Louis turned toward the veteran, "Holly Street, and it actually runs somewhat close to Metro International."

"Almost sounds too good to be true," Zoey whispered quietly.

Michael snorted from across the compartment, "Too good to be true would be a luxurious mansion on a tropical island with a butler."

"Either way, we still need to **get** to this street before we'll be in a position to do anything useful," Bill retorted, snapping the others out of their wistful thoughts.

Zoey suddenly perked up, "Anyone hear that?"

"Hear what?" Francis drawled, only paying half-attention to the brunette. He turned his attention to the unconscious pilot, only to find two milky eyes staring at him through a crooked pair of sunglasses.

"Shit!" the biker roared in alarm while pulling the trigger of his shotgun. The blast funnel missed the pilot by less than an inch as he darted up, slamming Zoey into the corner before she could aim her rifle. The pilot let out a hacking cough as his left arm swelled to ridiculous proportions, putrid boils appearing on the skin's surface.

"A Smoker…seriously?" Francis muttered while pumping his firearm, the empty casing flying out the opening.

The Infected let out another cough before darting toward the biker, who quickly, and quite forcefully, shoved it away. Francis swung his shotgun around, preparing to blow the Smoker's head off when he noticed he had pushed the Infected into Louis' chair, effectively putting the businessman at risk. The Smoker lunged at the biker once more, only to be knocked off course as Michael slammed the stock of his rifle into the Infected's head. The icy-eyed youth took aim, but felt like screaming as the Smoker bounced against the back of Bill's chair, putting him in danger.

"God damn it, we can't shoot him without hitting someone else!" Michael shouted in frustration.

Francis gritted his teeth, "Knew we should've just blown his head off, it makes crap like this so much simpler!"

The biker growled and grabbed the Smoker, throwing it into the unoccupied corner of the compartment. With an almost sadistic grin, Francis raised his shotgun. The Smoker quickly turned toward the recovering Zoey, whipping its tongue around the brunette and pulling her toward it.

"Aw, come on!" Francis shouted in annoyance.

"Fuck off, freak!" Zoey screamed while driving her elbow into the Infected's gut.

The blow caused the Smoker to stumble back and, at the same time, the tongue to slacken its hold. Louis grabbed his Uzi and shot out his chair, rushing toward the fight. Speedily unwinding the appendage from her body, Zoey stepped back and lifted her hunting rifle, firing a blind shot at the Smoker's head. The Infected ducked out the way in time, plowing through the young woman and honing its sights on Louis. The businessman sidestepped the Smoker, forcing the former human to crash into the unoccupied chair.

"Got you now!" Francis cackled triumphantly while aiming.

Bill followed the imaginary line from Francis' barrel to the stunned Smoker, noticing, to his horror, the control panel. "Francis, don't!"

The veteran's warning was drowned out by the deafening blast of the shotgun, which was amplified by the small space. The cone of lead ripped through the Smoker, the chair, and, unfortunately, the co-pilot's side of the controls. To make matters worse, the Infected exploded in a thick cloud of smoke, which quickly filled the cabin.

Bill was vaguely aware of the several alarms blaring in the cockpit amidst the constriction of his lungs. His vision was shot, the dark green smog creating a solid wall around him. The cyclic flailed wildly in front him, far beyond the senior's control as the number of alarms increased, spreading like a disease across the panel. He could feel the helicopter begin to rotate in lazy circles.

"Time to abandon ship!" Bill ordered between coughs.

Francis flung himself at the sliding door, pulling roughly at the latch and forcing the door somewhat open.

"Piece of shit's stuck!" the biker yelled while attempting to dislodge the door.

Louis coughed into his arm, "Try the emergency latch!"

The large man pulled the red latch that was below the main one, causing a loud hiss to emanate from the door. A moment later, the entire door blew off the aircraft and fell to the street below. The helicopter's rotation was gradually picking up speed and rapidly losing altitude. The smoke from the dead Infected quickly filtered outside, once again allowing oxygen into the compartment.

"We're gonna freakin' die!" Michael shouted, quickly becoming dizzy from the spin of the chopper.

Bill, seemingly unfazed by the situation, pointed toward an approaching rooftop, "Greenhouse up ahead! We can leap to it once we get close enough!"

Francis gawked at the veteran, "You're fucking crazy, old man!"

Bill gripped the biker's collar, pulling him to eye level, "It's do or die, if we don't try it, then this bird's gonna crash and burn with **us** in it!"

The helicopter rotated around, throwing the rooftop temporarily from view.

Bill gripped the side of the opening tightly, "On the count of three, we jump!"

Zoey gulped; never in her wildest dreams did she ever believe she would one day jump from a crashing helicopter.

"One!"

Louis was busy praying his ass off, indistinctly aware that Bill had begun counting.

"Two!"

Michael unconsciously licked his chapped lips. Despite his earlier proclamation, adrenaline now began to pump through his veins; this was _just like the movies, man_!

"**Three!**"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you, Bill!" Francis roared as the group simultaneously threw themselves from the damaged aircraft.

Wind quickly greeted Michael's face as he soared through the air. The feeling lasted only a moment before he felt his body slam through a pane of glass. Green shards fell around him like deadly snowflakes, and it took the youth all of two seconds to realize that he had fallen _into_ the greenhouse. Michael landed harshly on the floor, rolling a few times before coming to a painful stop. Around him, the glass shards rained down.

"Ow," the youth muttered weakly while slowly hauling himself to his feet.

Outside, an explosion shook the overhanging pots as the helicopter crashed into the street below. Glancing around groggily, Michael could make out a long table filled with gardening tools, and a ton of glass covering the floor. Ahead of him was a small brick wall with a door on the other end of the room. Picking up his discarded assault rifle, the youth did a once-over of himself, letting out a sigh of relief upon discovering that the shards had not cut him to ribbons.

A groan from behind Michael caused the blonde to whirl around quickly, rifle at the ready. The youth blinked in surprise when he found Louis struggling to his feet. Rushing over, Michael hooked the older man's arm around his shoulders and helped him to his feet.

"How's it feel to be alive, Louis?" the icy-eyed man joked lightly.

The businessman winced, "Kinda wish I didn't feel anything, actually."

"Get the hell off of me, Bill!" Francis' voice yelled, followed by the sounds of a scuffle.

They could hear Bill snort, "Not like I wanted to land on you anyway, you make a crappy pillow."

Turning on the flashlights attached to their guns, Louis and Michael found Francis and Bill a few meters away. The biker was on his feet, a deep scowl pressed into his features, while the veteran was using the table for support as he lifted himself up.

"Oh yeah, sure, no one help me, I'm perfectly fine," Zoey muttered from the corner, drawing the attention of the others.

"How're you feeling?" Louis asked in concern while taking a few steps toward the brunette.

Zoey grunted while propping herself up with her rifle, "Eh, I've felt better."

The survivors slowly grouped around the table, looks of mixed emotions on their faces.

Michael coughed into his fist, "Well, uh…props for surviving a helicopter crash?"

Bill dispensed a cigarette from his pack, "We can celebrate later. Right now we need to decide on a plan on how to find the airport."

As if on cue, a large military-grade plane flew dangerously low above the greenhouse, the force of the engines knocking a few panels loose from the ceiling.

Michael pointed at the disappearing aircraft, "…I say we follow that."

"By God, that looks like a C-130! The only place a bird that size can go is Metro International," Bill informed while lighting the white stick.

Francis shouldered his shotgun, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's move!"

The biker kicked open the door, immediately coming face to face with a small cluster of Infected.

Francis grinned maniacally, "Let's show these vampire bastards how we do it in Fairfield!"

"They're zombies," the others corrected exasperatedly.

"Whatever!"

One of the closer Infected charged Francis, letting loose a small scream. The biker reeled back his arm and smashed his fist into the zombie's face. The Infected stumbled back into its brethren, giving Francis enough to swing his firearm around and fire a shell into the group. The middle Infected was ripped to shreds, while the outer cone had torn off the arm of the left zombie and the leg of the right. The biker smirked while popping the used shell out of the chamber. A gloved finger squeezed the trigger, only for a soft _click_ to emit from the shotgun. It was at that moment that Francis remembered that he didn't reload after the crash.

"…Shit!" the large man cursed as the two remaining Infected rushed, and limped, at him.

Acting on instinct, Francis slammed the stock of his firearm into the one-legged Infected, knocking it over a nearby pottery table. The other Infected lashed out at the biker's unguarded back, causing the man flinch. Whipping around, Francis drove his shotgun horizontally into the zombie's neck. With a roar, the biker rammed the Infected into the corner of the room, bashing the former human in the head with the empty firearm. The Infected's skull caved in after the fifth strike, causing blood to splatter against the brick wall. Francis stepped away from the lifeless body as the others came running down the staircase.

"Francis! Zoey found some bullets up there, you should really stock up before…" Louis paused while surveying the carnage. "Never mind."

Bill just gave Francis a crossed look while tossing a box of shells at him.

"What?" the biker asked innocently, reloading his shotgun with a clearly confused expression on his face.

The spry old man merely rolled his eyes in turn before hopping out of the broken window in front of them. Straightening his back, Bill inhaled deeply, noticing with a frown that the scent of plants and dirt was now replaced by that of smoke and death. The veteran circled around the rooftop as the others made their way out of the greenhouse, his aging eyes searching for a way down to the streets. He made a mental note of a questionable sheet of wood that connected their rooftop to a neighboring one.

Zoey paused as something miniscule fluttered onto her cheek. With a curious scowl, she slid her thumb across the offending area, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise upon gazing at her hand. A deep gray smudge dirtied her opposable digit, causing her to blink in confusion.

"Is it snowing?" Michael asked doubtfully while peering at the glowing sky.

"Snow?" Bill murmured while catching a falling flake in his hand. Rubbing the substance between his index finger and thumb, a deep frown creased his features. "…This isn't snow, it's ash…"

"Holy shit," Francis whispered while gazing at the hundreds of ash-flakes that fell from the sky like a light snow.

Bill growled, "Not a good sign, if it's already this ashy then that means the city's been burning for **way** too long."

"Then let's move," Louis suggested while futilely and discreetly trying to avoid as much of the falling ash as possible.

Zoey suppressed a shiver as she brought a sleeve to her smudged cheek, rubbing furiously in an attempt to remove the ash from her skin.

"We got a way down?" Francis grilled, staring a hole through Bill as the Green Beret made his way back to the group.

Bill shook his head, "Looks like the fire escape is on the other side of the building, so we'll have to make ourselves comfortable with the high ground."

Louis fidgeted slightly at the veteran's conclusion, but the small movement went unnoticed by the other survivors.

Francis frowned, the deep creases in his forehead making him look years older than he was. "So you expect us to leap from rooftop to rooftop?"

"No, you idiot," Bill sighed while jerking a thumb toward the wooden plank that stretched over the narrow alley. "We use **that** until we find a way down."

Zoey tested the board hesitantly, "You sure it'll support us?"

"Maybe not the fat ass," Michael mumbled while scratching the back of his neck.

"What did I tell you about calling me fat?" Francis huffed, taking a threatening step toward the blonde.

Michael blinked at the biker, "But I didn't call you fat…sounds like someone's feeling a little self-conscious."

Bill could barely contain a snort as Francis' face turned an angry shade of red. "I swear I'm gonna kill you myself if those bastards down there don't beat me to it."

"Alright, enough you two," Bill ordered swiftly while stepping between the two. "We're working with limited time here, so finish this some other time."

Francis backed down, but not before shooting the youth a deadly glance. Michael knew the look held no true hatred, and couldn't help but grin in response.

"You sure that's our only way?" Louis asked with a wavering voice, unconsciously taking a timid step away from the edge.

Bill nodded curtly, "Yes, so let's move already. We've wasted enough time here as it is."

Zoey pulled her curious gaze from the businessman and stepped up to the questionable board. Staring straight ahead, the brunette sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. Placing a foot on the plank, Zoey mentally told herself to **not** look down at any point. The former college student raised both of her arms as she fully stepped over the deep alley. Faltering a tad, Zoey quickly took a few long strides, more than steps, but not quite bounds. With a final jump, the brunette landed safely onto the neighboring rooftop. Spinning on her heel, the young woman shot her companions a grin and gave them a thumbs-up.

Bill snorted and moved toward the plank, "Well, if she can do it…"

The elderly man was quick to make his way across the gap, not overly eager about the fact that the only thing keeping him from falling at least three stories was a bit of wood. Bill turned, planting a boot firmly on the board to help steady it. Francis craned his head around, using it to make a quick jerking motion at Louis. The businessman waved his hands in front of him quickly, a nervous grin on his face as he tried to avoid what was to come.

"Move it, Louis! We don't have all day!" Francis growled impatiently, planting his heavy boot on their end of the board for emphasis.

Louis rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I'm kinda afraid of heights…"

Francis stared back at him, an incredulous look on his face. "…Are you shittin' me?"

"Hey, everyone's got a fear…mine's just falling to my death," the former businessman retorted indignantly.

"Just cross the damn board, you pansy."

"Lay off Francis, I need a minute," Louis snapped while edging away from the plank.

Francis snorted impatiently, "You just jumped from a crashing helicopter into a greenhouse on a **rooftop**, for Christ's sake!"

"I had adrenaline to block out the fear, but there's no adrenaline for this!" the biker's tie-wearing associate shot back defensively.

"…Don't make me **throw** you across that damn gap."

"_Francis!_" Louis pleaded desperately while scooting further away from the biker.

"Hurry it up, people!" Bill hollered, obviously irate, from the other rooftop.

Francis drew his pistol from his hip and aimed it at Louis, "How 'bout this: every time you resist crossing that plank, I'm gonna shoot at you. So. Get. Moving."

Louis gawked at his fellow survivor, "You're joking…right?"

The biker responded simply by firing a shot, the bullet embedding itself into the roof less than foot away from Louis' leg. The businessman jumped in surprise before scrambling over to the roof's edge, "Alright! I'm going, I'm going!"

The dark-skinned man met Michael's sympathetic gaze nervously before risking a glance behind him. Francis was standing in the same spot; pistol still out and a feral smirk on his face. Louis spun back around, terrified, and stepped onto the board before the biker could offer any more 'motivation.'

Louis gulped audibly, "Okay, Louis, you can do this, you can do this. Just don't look down and you'll be fine."

Francis stepped up swiftly behind the businessman, the biker giving him a quick nudge across the expanse. Louis stumbled forward, barely able to keep his footing on the small slab of wood, a look of pure terror plastered across his face. The dark-skinned man whipped around furiously, seemingly forgetting how high off the ground he was, to glare daggers at the larger man. Francis merely feigned innocence, offering the Uzi-wielding survivor a confused stare and a shrug of his shoulders.

Still angry at the fact that the biker had almost pushed him to his potential death, Louis felt his jaw clench. "You better watch yourself, Francis."

Francis smirked challengingly; glad his plan was still working, and stepped onto the section that was still secured on their side of the alley. "Or what?"

Louis unconsciously stepped backwards away from the intimidating biker; he hadn't expected him to actually _do_ anything about the hollow threat. The businessman continued to edge away, unaware that he was now practically across the gap between rooftops. "Now hold on, Francis, don't do anything rash now."

Michael suppressed a laugh as Louis tripped on himself, falling backwards onto the rooftop that Zoey and Bill occupied. The look on his face was priceless as he began piecing together what had just transpired. The two survivors helped Louis up as Francis finished his trek across the plank, chuckling quietly to himself. Spinning around, the biker secured his end of the board as Michael started making his way over to the rest of the survivors.

Francis suddenly snapped to attention, his hard brown eyes peering suspiciously at something behind the icy-eyed youth. Michael refused to turn around, giving the larger man a skeptical look, "Har, har, Francis, but I'm not falling for it."

The biker's gaze didn't change, and Michael felt his cynicism die away, a sense of fear taking its place. Without warning, Francis lunged forward across the plank, shotgun raised as Michael felt something latch onto his right leg. Swinging his head around quickly, the young man came face to face with a familiar one-legged Infected. He attempted to shake the zombie off, but it only caused the Infected to pull harder, trying to bring the human down to its level of height. Francis bounded over as fast as his large frame would allow, shotgun poised to knock the Infected off of his companion.

With a simple tug, the former human managed to pull Michael into the line of Francis' charge, causing the large biker to crash into the icy-eyed youth. The board groaned in protest as so much weight was shifted to one side. Francis struggled to maintain his balance while attempting to pry the Infected from Michael's leg. A loud _**crack**_ shattered the air, forcing the survivors to stop instantly, eyes wide. The board caved in at the middle, the wood forming a crude 'V' as gravity pulled the debris downward. The three occupants plummeted down into the alley as the remaining survivors rushed to the edge of the rooftop in horror.

Francis was screaming in a _much_ higher pitch than what would be expected of a man his size, while Michael was taking the moment to yell every profanity known to man as the ground rushed closer to meet him. Michael landed in a large pile of garbage bags, his loud cursing abruptly cut off. Beside him, Francis' screams were cut short, followed by the loud banging of metal meeting metal. The youth sat up groggily, unconsciously casting a bleary glance above him at where he fell, his eyes suddenly widening.

"Oh, shit!" Michael shouted while falling back into the pile of garbage, bringing a bag up to cover his body. Around him, the remnants of the wooden board rained down, emitting sharp _**cracks**_ as they collided with the walls of the alley.

As the barrage ended, Michael cautiously poked his head out of the pile. Seeing that it was mildly safe, he threw the trash to the side while retrieving his rifle.

"Francis?" the blonde survivor called out weakly, seeing no sign of his loud comrade.

The dumpster beside him exploded into a fit of loud muffled cursing. The lid shot up, slamming into the brick wall behind it, revealing a _very_ pissed-off Francis. The biker unceremoniously fell out of the dumpster, a string of quiet insults and curses still leaving his lips.

"Well that fucking hurt," Francis mumbled while slowly rising to his feet.

Michael leaned against the wall, flexing his leg with a grimace, "Could've gone the day without that."

"Um…guys!" Zoey called down to the stranded pair, a fearful expression donning her face as she pointed further down the alley.

Francis and Michael followed the young woman's finger to where it was pointing, eyes widening when they came across a large group of Infected packed in the tiny space. A few of the closer zombies turned mechanically toward the source of the recent commotion.

An annoyed frown crossed the biker's face, "I'm seriously going to kick Louis' ass after this."

"Why me?" they heard Louis shout from the roof above.

"Because if you weren't such a chicken-shit, we would've been across this damn alley sooner!" Francis hollered back with a snarl.

"You might want to watch your own," Michael muttered while jerking a thumb behind them.

"Seriously?" Francis questioned in mild disbelief while turning around. "Son of a bitch!"

Behind the duo stood another large cluster of Infected, successfully trapping the lone survivors. Michael stepped up behind the biker, so that they were standing back-to-back.

"So…how we wanna go by this?" Mike asked casually while turning off the safety of his carbine.

Francis smirked while raising his shotgun, "I'll take the hundred in front, and you can have the hundred behind us."

The youth gave a short laugh, "Wow, that's so nice of you."

"I know, I'm a fucking saint, aren't I?"

Michael's quiet laughter died on his lips, replaced by a grim tone, "Seriously, what are we going to do?"

Francis gave his stubble a quick stroke, "Well, we don't have the ammo to take them all out without being ripped apart…"

The youth shuffled nervously as the crowd grew more agitated, "So?"

"Got it," the biker proclaimed while snapping his fingers. "Hey guys, cover our asses!"

* * *

Zoey felt her jaw drop as Francis suddenly charged forward, a shocked and frantic Michael following close behind after a moment's hesitation. The duo began firing into the horde in front of them, the large cluster at the rear sprinting in pursuit. Louis and Bill stood dumbstruck for a moment, utterly clueless as to what the large biker was thinking, before recovering and shooting down into the alley.

"What the hell is he doing!" Louis shouted with widened eyes.

"No idea!" Bill roared in response, annoyance clear in his words. "But he better not get us killed!"

"This is Francis we're talking about…" Zoey muttered while sending a bullet into the skull of a lunging Infected.

Louis paused for a moment, "We're screwed!"

The brunette ignored the businessman's defeated cries and stole a glimpse through her scope, seeing the large, tattooed man duck around a corner, pulling Michael with him. Her companions continued to send lead raining down into the swarm of Infected below, doing their best to cover the rear.

Zoey blinked and lifted her head, "Where the hell are they going?"

Bill growled while popping new shells into his shotgun, "That bastard better not be ditching us."

"Even he's not _that_ stupid," Zoey retorted while moving toward the broken window of the adjacent apartment complex. "Hurry up; we can still catch up to them!"

"Yeah, and what are we going to do to him _after_ we catch him?" Bill muttered while following close behind the brunette.

Louis nodded in agreement from the back, "I still need to repay that jackass for what he did back there."

The three sprinted down the narrow hallway, rounding the empty kitchen and came face-to-face with a dead end.

"Ladder outside!" Bill called before smashing the butt of his shotgun through the glass window.

Louis hopped down and ran over to the edge of the slanted rooftop, "Where the hell are they?"

As if to answer, nearby gunfire and crazed laughter sounded from on the other side of the building.

"There," Bill responded casually while moving up the rungs of the ladder.

"Well, least they're still alive," Zoey mumbled while following suit.

Bill peered over the edge of the roof, finding it devoid of any Infected. Hauling himself up, the veteran offered his hand to Zoey, who graciously accepted it. The three moved cautiously across the rooftop, dread rising in their stomachs at the realization that the gunfire had abruptly ceased. Muffled screams and snarls could still be heard down in the streets, not a good sign either.

Louis cleared his throat, dragging his companions from the somber conclusions they were drawing in their heads. "Check it out," he called while pointing at the sign attached to an adjacent building. "Holly Street Apartments, at least we're on the right track."

"Holy shit!" Bill exclaimed in surprise while glancing down from his perch near the far edge.

* * *

Francis brought a finger to his lips, trying his best to shush the veteran. "Would you shut the hell up, Bill!" he hissed in agitation while glancing at the nearby fire escape in worry. Michael leaned against the wall beside him, looking haggard and generally scared senseless.

"What the hell happened?" Bill asked in mild amazement as Zoey and Louis poked their heads over the edge.

The biker cracked a quick grin, "We gave them the slip, but keep it down 'cause they're right below us."

Weathered eyes widened at the news before the elderly man answered with a quick nod. The other three hopped onto the lower balcony, being sure to be as quiet as possible. Michael immediately latched onto Louis, gripping the former businessman for dear life.

"Don't ever leave me alone with him again!"

Louis untangled himself from the youth's arms and offered him a sympathetic smile, "It's something we've all had to endure."

"What exactly did he do?" Bill inquired curiously.

Zoey leaned forward, "Did he do the mad cackle while shouting 'Merry Christmas!' every time he shot a zombie?"

Michael numbly nodded.

The brunette frowned, "You poor thing...get use to it though, he does that a lot."

Francis snorted, "Do not."

Zoey shot him a skeptic look, followed by a rolling of her eyes, but ultimately chose to keep silent.

Louis cleared his throat, "Well, now that we're all reunited once again, shall we continue?"

Francis nodded, "Continue. Right…where exactly are we continuing to?"

The businessman rolled his eyes while moving into the living room of the apartment, "We're currently on Holly Street, which is a step in the right direction to the airport. At this point, all we need is an intersection and I'll know exactly how far we are from the airport."

Michael cautiously moved down the stairwell, "So basically…we need to head outside, in other words."

"Pretty much…yeah," Louis shrugged while peeking into a room, finding no Infected inside.

"Hallway's blocked off," Zoey called while rounding a nearby corner, wrinkling her nose in irritation.

"Shit, blockades all over the place," Francis whistled from the kitchen while gazing out of a broken window.

Louis glanced over the biker's shoulder, discovering that a large semi truck had been backed into the fenced barricade, bending the chain link wall and, simultaneously, a street sign. The metal pole was twisted in a sharp angle, the top half lying across the flat surface of the truck's trailer.

The dark-skinned man's eyes lit up, "Hurb and Holly, perfect!"

"Sounds like a fucked up married couple to me…" Francis snorted, his eyes doing a quick sweep of the block.

Bill stepped up beside him, "It's the intersection, you dipshit."

The tattooed survivor shot him a cutting glare and growled, "No shit."

Michael rubbed his eyes, "There a safe house nearby? I don't know about you guys, but jumping out of the helicopter took a lot out of me."

Bill glanced at the youth, "Don't expect safe houses to be everywhere we go."

Michael merely raised an eyebrow in response.

The veteran sighed, "Those things were built by CEDA and the military, and since Mercy was a main evac point, there were bound to be a few nearby. This is Newburg, a city that the military's not afraid to bomb…so don't expect them to be so generously placed."

The youth sucked his teeth…_that_ made sense. "So what, we shack up in a random room when we're too far away from one?"

"Not exactly," Bill answered while shaking his head. "Just bunking in any old room is asking for death. We tend to pick out a place with no windows, preferably two entrances, and with secure and durable doors…sort of like that storage room we found you in."

Michael nodded, "Okay, sounds like a solid plan…now where the hell are we going to find a place like that?"

"Is that a hotel?" Zoey asked, interrupting the conversation between the two.

Louis squinted while leaning forward, "Huh…it _is_ a hotel."

Francis rested his shotgun on his shoulder, "Looks like we found a place to crash."

"Royal suite, right?" Michael asked sarcastically while glancing at Bill.

The wry old man smirked, "Yep."

**

* * *

**

Next Chapter: Hands Held High

**Cutting through a school, the Survivors find more than they bargained for: a vest-less Francis, a group of crazy back-humpers, a clown, a not-so-happy Witch, and….the military?**

**A/N: Dear God, words cannot describe how sorry I am about the slow update. I had originally expected for this to be up by Thanksgiving…of 2009, and here I am: Memorial Day of 2010. Alright, with the apologies out of the way, I'd like to say that Dead Air is going to take a small detour in terms of the campaign's layout, but rest assured, it will get back on track within three chapters.**

**A huge thank-you to those who have reviewed and messaged me about this story, it's a huge boost in motivation to continue, I even have an idea about a sequel now…**

**As always, reviews and feedback (even grammar-related) are greatly appreciated.**


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